


Rapprochement

by Spiritheart



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst, Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, Auguste/Damen/Nikandros triangle, Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Humor, High Seas Adventure Ahoy, Long Lost/Secret Relative, M/M, Makeup Sex, Pet Play, Pining, Shameless Smut, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2020-05-16 00:12:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 49,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19306705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiritheart/pseuds/Spiritheart
Summary: Neither Auguste or Damen die at Marlas. That night they finish what they started on the battlefield in bed. While Damen is Auguste’s hostage, they build a political and personal alliance to settle the future of Delpha, until events complicate their partnership. Complications that include adventures on the high seas and the island of Paradiso._____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Laurent entered, his hair almost silver in the early morning light, his pure blue eyes taking in the scene with aplomb as he observed lightly, “You have become better acquainted with our hostage.”“As you see,” Auguste answered, pulling on his last boot. Auguste realized how badly this reflected on him in Laurent’s eyes. He imagined what he would hear later.  Bedding that Akielon savage Auguste? Were there no Pets at your disposal? No one else willing to accommodate the Hero of Marlas?“We have not met. I am Laurent. Please do not get up. You look very comfortable where you are.” Laurent drawled as he acknowledged Damen, who only put his outrageously muscled arms behind his head and let the sheet slip lower.





	1. Finish What you Started

Auguste leaned against the inner courtyard wall, watching the first pale light of dawn lift the night. He felt boneless with exhaustion. Since the battle, they had held council, hammered out the treaty with Akielos and then celebrated, with endless toasts to their victory, his heroics and the King, his father. Somewhere in there he’d cleaned the blood and gore of killing from his body and had his wounds cleaned and dressed. There was only one thing he hadn’t done. He hadn’t checked on his hostage, the Akielon prince Damianos.

Only now could he reflect on what had been the closest fight of his life. When he unarmed the Akielon Prince, instead of killing him, he had put his sword to his neck and taken him hostage. It had ended the war. Now they had a treaty that kept Delfeur for Vere and a hostage that guaranteed the Akielon retreat.

In battle he killed without thinking, assured in his skill, rarely matched with a fighter of his caliber. In a duel of honor it was different. Or it had been. He had thought to make quick work of the Akielon prince, but in Damianos he had met his match.

The Akielon Prince had believed he would win. Auguste had seen that from the moment he rode up, removed his helmet and challenged him to duel, with excitement and assurance in his ringing voice and eager posture. Of course he knew of his reputation. A formidable veteran fighter and tactician already at not twenty summers.

That first engagement, Damianos had driven him back, as no man had done since he could remember. The shock of it had ignited his blood and a primitive instinct that this man had the ability to defeat him. With a roar he had unleashed a flurry of attacks that Damianos had taken and returned with deadly power and finesse. The time he’s pricked his shoulder had only seemed to settle Damianos into more brilliant sword work, as if he’d just realized he’d need his every reserve of skill to win.

“Finish him!” his guard had chorused when finally, in a desperate gambit, he managed to unarm him. In the intimacy of that fight, he had felt such a strange kinship to this rival Prince and he had a premonition that to kill him was to kill someone he needed to know for the future of Vere.

He could have let him pick up his sword, as honor dictated, but he had a stark awareness regarding how this duel might end. With his death, as easily as the that of Damianos. Then, it was just an instinctual decision. To put his sword to the Prince’s throat, give him no choice but surrender and end the war.

He recalled the struggle in the Prince’s expression, his body’s tension from a rigid tamping down of his instinct to fight. He didn’t want to die, but he hated to surrender even more. Auguste realized in that moment, they would both be Kings someday. This was a man he could befriend and parlay with in the future. This oddly enough may be an Akielon he could trust.

Auguste met the guards stationed around the hostage’s quarters, was given the worshipful greeting he now inspired as the Hero of the Battle of Marlas. Another mantle to carry he thought ruefully. After this he would check on Laurent who had left the celebration early, once assured of Auguste’s well-being.

The Akielon Prince was awake, reclining on the bed, gazing at the ceiling. Clearly he had not slept. He turned his head, at the sound of his entrance and stood up with alacrity, his expression a mixture of anger and sadness.

“Have your needs been taken care of?” Auguste asked politely. He felt oddly uncomfortable when faced with the stark pain on Damianos face.

“They have. I thank you,” said rather stiffly. “Has my father sent a message?” Hope and dread in his voice.

“No.” Auguste replied simply.

He saw the guilt and disappointment in Damianos’s face. Auguste knew he would feel just so if he had failed his father and country, and felt a twinge of empathy.

“You gave me the fight of my life. Either of us may have won,” he ventured truthfully.

“But I lost. I lost the war and Delpha for Akielos.” Damianos said with brutal honesty. His tone harsh. Every line of his body communicated frustrated aggression.

Auguste said nothing for a moment, then, “We were winning the battle. I believe we would have won. You saved many soldier’s lives with your gambit.”

Damianos nodded grimly. “Yes. I saw it clearly. Our line broke again and again on yours. You were…invincible. I knew there was only one possibility, for me to challenge and defeat you. In my arrogance I had no doubt I could.” His lip curled in self-disgust.

“I’ve never had a closer fight.”

“I have not been defeated since I was 16. I was overconfident.”

“That time you reversed that uppercut towards my head to an undercut towards my stomach, I thought you had me.

“I did too, but you reacted so quickly and deflected it.”

“When you were off balance, I almost got inside your guard but you are a damned brilliant swordsman.”

“Not brilliant enough.”

They took each other’s measure, silently acknowledging how intrigued by the other’s sword work.

“I would love a rematch,” Damianos said, eyes glittering with a passionate desire to somehow redeem himself.

“What stakes?” Auguste asked curiously.

Damianos gave him a frustrated look. “Recovering my honor would be one.”

Auguste just shook his head, communicating that the Akielon prince’s honor was never an issue.

He took a long moment to study him. He was just so large and yet he had never fought a man who was quicker. His combination of brutal strength and lightening reflexes were unique. His sword work was intricate and intelligent. You came to know a lot about a man when you dueled him to the death.

He was also very attractive, with his large, deep set dark eyes, broad cheekbones and a generous mouth. Then, there was his body, revealed as he wore only loose Veretian bed trousers, of heroic proportions and sculpted like a statue of masculine beauty.

Auguste realized his attraction must have shown in his eyes because he saw a flicker of surprise followed by a matching gaze of appreciation. The air between them was suddenly charged. Like any men, the raised blood of battle could easily turn to another type of arousal.

He brushed his hand through his hair, feeling caught out and awkward, looked aside and gave a small laugh. “Sorry, that would be a poor decision.”

“Or it could be a rematch of sorts,” Damianos replied with a note of challenge in his voice.

Auguste’s checked and affirmed the Akielon’s arousal. Those thin linen pants weren’t very concealing. He felt his own response, insistently roused.

As soon as their eyes met, Damianos searched his face and with a glint of satisfaction, moved in to simply set his mouth against his. It was a kiss that started out asking, _will you_ , and receiving an answer of _yes_ in response, turned plundering.

Auguste reached up and took a handful of the Akelion’s hair, twisting it to slant his head and take control of the kiss. He liked the heat and scent of Damianos, the taste of his anger and pain and the power of his body locked against his. Surprisingly, he felt him relax into the kiss and allow Auguste to take over. Then in an unexpected maneuver, Damianos grasped him in a full body hold, lifted him and threw him onto the bed. It had been a feint.

Auguste was stunned for a moment. He was no small man and the Akielon’s ability to lift and throw him was impressive. Auguste kicked out and caught him solidly in the chest, sending him slightly back. That was even more impressive. He’d put the whole force of his legs and torso into that kick and he’d driven him back perhaps half a step.

He rolled to the side as Damianos leaped on him but found himself snared and held in an embrace of steel, arms pinned to his side. Daminaos rutted his cock against him as he struggled to break his hold.

“This isn’t going to work. Let me undress,” he said. His tightly laced trousers and shirt were a barrier to a quick coupling.

Damianos let him go, biting out “Then undress,” and ripped off his loose pants impatiently. Auguste was awkwardly attempting to open his shirt laces. Damianos gave an impatient growl and stood. Seeing the length and width of his cock revealed, Auguste blurted out, “Fuck!”

Damianos acknowledged his remark with a small smile and stalked over with the same lethal grace he had as a fighter. Looking at Auguste’s shirt laces as if they offended him he said, “Veretian clothing is very inconvenient.” He deftly opened the shirt laces and Auguste pulled off his shirt.

“Had some experience undressing a Veretian?”

“On occasion,” he acknowledged with a lifted brow. He wrapped his hand around himself, stroking and pulling roughly as he waited for Auguste to continue to undress. Auguste saw that yes, it could and did get larger.

Auguste sat on the edge of the bed, disposing of his boots and then kicked off his trousers. Leaning back on the bed, he deliberately showed himself for Damianos’s appraisal. He knew his body was formidably hard muscled and lean. His face was said to be almost as beautiful as his younger brothers. Then, he was usually the one receiving exclamations of awe regarding how gracefully he was endowed. He had no lack of confidence. He looked to Damiano’s reaction and was gratified to see his eyes heavy lidded as he gave an elemental sound of appreciation.

Despite his barely restrained hunger, when Damianos slid onto the bed next to him, he carefully turned Auguste’s face to murmur near his ear, “What is your pleasure?” Auguste caught his eyes and purposefully licking his lips said, “I want to suck you while you suck me. Lie down.” Damianos closed his eyes briefly, clearly struggling to restrain himself and moved back on the bed.

They arranged themselves on their sides, in reverse alignment. Auguste grasped Damianos heavy sex, tonguing and sucking the tip just as he felt a hot mouth envelope the head of his own. They both moaned around their full mouths and from there Auguste’s awareness was a blur of insistent climbing pleasure, the spicy scent of masculine arousal, mutual desperate groans and the animal struggle of their bodies.

Forgoing finesse, Damianos pushed himself deep into his mouth and Auguste opened his throat to accommodate more of him. They both began fucking each other’s mouths, at first carefully, but finding a rhythm began thrusting and rocking while they moaned and bucked in unison.

It couldn’t last. It was too good, too much. Everything they had experienced in the madness of this day, being on the edge of life and death together, became unleashed as they desperately careened toward release. And then it was there in a glorious, rapturous coming that was somehow the completion of their fight and would be marked in his memory as was this day.

Auguste leaned back and massaged his throat, realizing only now that it was painful inside. “Water,” he croaked out with a strangled laugh. Damianos left the bed and returned holding a shallow cup. His expression was both concerned and gratified. Auguste swallowed and felt the cool water sooth the roughness.

“Auguste, I’m sorry. Are you injured?” Damianos sounded genuinely worried. He looked younger now, with the pain and guilt that had marked his face softened.

Auguste met his eyes as the absurdity of that question after this day struck him. He laughed helplessly, falling back on the bed, feeling giddy with the aftermath of bone melting pleasure and the preposterousness of bedding the rival prince. “Ah, Akielon, you may have won the rematch with that massive cock!”

Damianos grinned at him and Auguste stared at the sight. That golden brown skin in contrast with those beautiful teeth and damn, those enticing dimples and that sculpted jaw.

“I never thought this day would end this way,” Damianos said, becoming serious. “In all the tales of great battles I recall none with this ending Veretian.”

“One of us should be dead,” Auguste said sobering.

“Not one of us. Me.” Damianos said starkly. “You saved my life. What made you do it?”

“Our fathers will die someday and we will rule. I had a hope we might find a path to peace between our countries.”

Damianos gave him a speculative look, and took some moments before replying. “What do you have in mind?” Cautious, wary.

“Nothing specific. Just that we come to know each other, develop understanding and perhaps even trust. Then we negotiate differences rather than war. Our fathers would never do this, but we may try. The way you fought, I believe you are an honorable man.” For an Akielon, unsaid, but there between them.

Damianos stood and took a shallow cup of water to drink. Watching the movement of his strong brown throat, viewing the power and symmetry of his body, Auguste was aware of what an opponent he was and how close he came to being the loser in their fight.

Putting down the cup, he said, “Then let us begin by your calling me Damen. It is the name my friends call me.”

“Damen,” Auguste said, trying it out. “Damianos is quite a mouthful.” Realizing the innuendo in this remark, he felt a smile return and found it met in Damen’s answering one.

“I don’t have a small name. You are stuck with Auguste in my case.”

Damen nodded. “Less of a mouthful than Damianos, only a bit unwieldly.”

At this entendre their amusement turned to shared laughter. “A duel with swords, one with cocks and now I think you should let me fuck you.” Auguste suggested.

Damen blanched, “I have never.”

Auguste said, “Oh, always on top, of course. I find it pleasurable either way.” Perhaps Akielons had some odd ideas about bedsport, Auguste considered.

Their eyes locked in a standoff.

Damen admitted, “After this day, you are definitely not getting a leg over me.”

Auguste said, “That is fair enough. I should see to my brother. I promised him I’d visit him last night and it is the new day. He’s probably still awake waiting. Is there anything you require before I go?”

Damen shook his head and said with genuine warmth. “Thank you for seeing to my needs. You are a generous man.”

“It was my pleasure,” Auguste replied, feeling languid and replete, hearing it in his own voice.  
He began the tedious process of dressing and decided to forgo his outer shirt and leave on his light under one.

Damen threw himself back on the bed and stretched like cat, watching him with teasing eyes.

“Stop looking at me like that and cover that becoming very interested cock of yours or I will be even later for my brother.”

Damen slowly and languorously pulled up the linen sheet to barely cover his lower body and then said invitingly, “I’ve just realized, there is something else you can do for me.”

There was a rap on the door and they heard an imperious voice say, “I require my brother. Is he within?”

“Shit, it’s Laurent.”

Auguste had no time to compose himself but hissed to Damianos, “Cover yourself!” and when Damen barely moved, “Now!”

Laurent entered, his hair almost silver in the early morning light, his pure blue eyes taking in the scene with aplomb as observed lightly, “You have become better acquainted with our hostage.”

“As you see,” Auguste answered, pulling on his last boot. Auguste realized how badly this reflected on him in Laurent’s eyes. He imagined what he would hear later. Bedding that Akiekon savage Auguste? Were there no Pets at your disposal? No one else willing to accommodate the Hero of Marlas?

“We have not met. I am Laurent. Please do not get up. You look very comfortable where you are.” Laurent drawled as he acknowledged Damen, who only put his outrageously muscled arms behind his head and let the sheet slip lower.

Auguste tried to ignore this byplay while tucking his shirt into his trousers. “I am sorry I did not come to your chambers earlier, I was detained.”

“Yes, detained. Clearly so. Are you free now or still becoming better acquainted with our guest, so to speak?” A deceptively polite skewering.

“I was on my way to see you.” Auguste inwardly groaned, giving up any hope of salvaging this situation in Laurent’s eyes.

Laurent’s face was aloof and curious as he observed Damianos, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying Auguste’s discomfort.

“Are you finding our hospitality adequate?” he said in a voice silken with malice.

“More than adequate,” Damen replied, radiating satisfaction.

“Yes, you seem surprisingly at your leisure for a captive Prince. I am gratified to know it.” Then turning to Auguste, “Then I will see you at breakfast.” With a nod to Damen and a repressive look to Auguste, he turned and left.

“He is…” Damen said.

“Yes,” Auguste agreed.

“I am in for an interesting breakfast conversation. He will show no mercy. He has the most lethal mouth on him when he is vexed.”

Damen said, “I believe I received a lashing in just that short interchange. He’s thirteen? What will he be like at twenty?”

“It is frightening to contemplate. Don’t be surprised if he visits you later. He likes to know everything and he’ll want to take your measure.”

“I will prepare myself.”

“Don’t bother. It isn’t really possible.” Auguste said, feeling exposed and off balance at the prospect of facing Laurent at breakfast. “I shouldn’t keep him waiting. He’ll think we are still getting further acquainted.”

“You’d best be off. I’d like you in one piece next I see you,” Damen replied, his voice husky with promise.

Auguste gave him one last lingering look and a conspiratorial smile. Once in the hallway, he found he could not restrain his laughter. Oh Laurent. How to explain this?

 

 

 

 

“


	2. Alliance of Princes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damen finds a way to turn his defeat into an alliance with Auguste that will secure the future of Delpha and avoid another war. Laurent does a little cock blocking. For now...
> 
>  
> 
> _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Damen slept after Auguste and Laurent left him. It was a deep sleep and he awoke at mid-afternoon, rested and ravenous and called for food. His mind kept replaying the fight with Auguste over and over, searching for the mistakes he’s made, the opportunities he’d missed. His hand clenched, wanting to feel the weight of a sword. His breath short with thwarted urgency to take action.

Then, images of Auguste invaded his mind. Auguste displaying his body with lazy assurance of his desirability. Auguste, whose mouth was made for kissing and smiling. Auguste who made the most arousing sounds during sex. Auguste, his expression more relieved than triumphant, his armor battered and bloody, holding a sword to his throat.

A knock on the door and a servant brought him a message. He looked for the King’s seal but it was instead the laurel seal of Nikandros’s house. He ripped it open, a pang of longing in his chest and read, ' _You live, I live, there will be another day. Your guard and I will collect you in four days_. _Until then, be well_.' Signed with Nik’s slashing N. In those three sentences he heard, _I believe in you, as do your friends and don’t do anything stupid Damen_.

They had watched the battle together, denied leading a cohort by the King, who held them in reserve. All morning they watched the golden Prince and his guard smash their line until it was clear the day was near lost. They had spoken together of the Veretian Prince’s unfatigable prowess on the field with admiration, with awe, with envy. Damen had burned to lead a charge into the heart of the Veretian army and been denied.

He and Nik seethed as they saw their men throw themselves against the Veretians and be smashed. It was becoming a rout and men were dying with nothing to be gained. Men he had trained with, sparred with, marched with. Nik had agreed, “You can beat him, Damen. It’s the one chance we have.” When he prepared to ride out, Nik by his side, he had seen only confidence in his friend’s eyes.

Until the moment he stood with Auguste’s sword at his throat and had glanced to find Nik being restrained by three of his guard, anguish in his face. It was that look that had sealed his submission and Nik’s roughened voice carrying to him, "Live Damianos, live for Akielos.” Damen knew what he couldn’t say, “Live for me, damn it Damen!”

They had shared every first together; first kiss, first kill, first woman. Nik, always there, always trusted and beloved. Even today, there, with the message he’d wished for from his Father. He knew as no other the self-recriminations Damen would throw on himself and had acted to deny them taking root.

He wrote a quick reply, knowing it would be opened, he didn’t bother to ask for wax to seal it. 'I will see you in three days. I am well.' He received another message, this spoken by Auguste’s body servant. " _Auguste the Prince of Vere will join you for supper this evening in your rooms._ "

He was attended in the baths adjacent to his rooms and given a clean chiton. "The Prince had it made to your size by the castle women today." It was a pleasant prison but Damen, unused to leisure, found it cloying. He asked for another quill and more paper, for books on the history of Delfuer/Delpha and they were given. He spent his afternoon reading the history of that long-contested region between Vere and Akielos. Ideas began to form and he sketched them out on the paper. He tried not to anticipate his meeting with his Father and pushed away the insistent thoughts of all the ways he hoped to explore Auguste tonight.

When he arrived, looking fresh and hale, in light summer silks of pale yellow that matched his long, waving hair, and set off his sun bronzed skin, Damen stood to greet him. “You are as large as I recall, I thought I must have mis-remembered,” he said with a teasing smile and gave him a light kiss of greeting. Damen, feeling unaccountably flustered, said “Thank you for the clothing. I feel more myself in this.” “Yes, it suits you,” Auguste said with an appreciative glance over his uncovered arms and legs.

They sat at table as servants brought in a hearty repast of roast lamb, summer vegetables, fine grained bread, saffron rice and wine. Auguste informed him the King, his father had withdrawn to Arles and he was left with a sizeable force and the command of Marlas. He added that the Akielon army was marching to their border and that Damen’s guard would arrive in three days to escort him home. “Yes, I have been advised,” he added at the last part. “Of course, the message from Nikandros, the principal of your Guard.”

Naturally, Vere had been in communication with his father and his house. Naturally any message coming in or going out had been read. Damen understood but gritted his teeth at more evidence of his lack of agency.

They finished the meal and the servants cleared the table, their talk light and easy as if long time comrades. Auguste was lightly flirtatious, charming, then suddenly probing as he used his arsenal of wiles to investigate Damen further. Damen could play that game as well and they both acknowledged their chess match of words with small shared smiles and innuendos. When it appeared that flirting was proceeding to mutual seduction, Damen rose and retrieved the books and notes he’s been working on that afternoon.

“What is this?” Auguste asked, amused and curious by Damen’s redirection of the evening.

“Have you not been informed of my every move?”

“I know you asked for books on the history of the Delfeur region and the time Akielos and Vere were one country. You not only speak Veretian, you obviously read it as well.”

“Of course.”

Damen began, “I have been thinking about what you said, about working together in the future. We both know my father will not take this defeat easily and will return. Too many of our countrymen’s lives have fed the soil of this border while our country’s exchange sovereignty. We need to have a plan or we will meet on the field once more as soon as next year.”

“Yes, that is predictable.” Auguste observed him patiently.

“The people of Delpha or your Delfeur already have mixed loyalties as their country affiliation has changed many times. My plan is for it to become a neutral region, one that you and I would oversee together as Princes. Akielos and Vere would share equally in the resources and responsibilities.”

“Having won this war and retained Delfeur, my Father will see no advantage in this.” Auguste said directly.

Damen, having foreseen this obvious objection, agreed, “Not now he won’t, but when Akielos returns to harrying your traders, blocking your supply routes and raiding, then marches next year with a larger force, he may be open to negotiations. Then we present this idea to our fathers.”

“You are suggesting we develop this idea now, while we can and hold it in reserve?”

“Yes, I would use these days together to build an alliance between us for the future.”

Auguste sprung up and strode about as if movement helped him think, “We would need to a joint council, laws specific to this neutral country.” His expression rueful, he said, “I don’t know about you, but my Father says he wants to give me more experience ruling but he has great difficulty releasing the reins. This would give us both opportunity to learn and put our own stamp on governing.”

Damen was charmed by this side of Auguste, enthusiastic and inspiring. His energy was palpable as the charge in the air right before a summer storm.

“Much would depend on the two if us having a mutual vision, sharing power and maintaing trust. What do you think of…”

Damen leaned back in his chair with a smile, and Auguste catching his amusement, stopped pacing and gesturing. He inclined his head and with a sarcastic twist of his mouth, said, “Stop me if you have anything to contribute.”

“Here, I’ve sketched out a few ideas for different governing bodies, identified allies and regions to build alliances within Delpha.” They gathered, shoulder to shoulder at the table, and using Damen’s notes and a map of Delefur that Auguste called for, developed their plan. Auguste had a rare head for political strategy. Damen, for simplifying overly complex and outdated methods of governing. Both were used to leading men and sharing command with others. They took to collaborating with an ease of men with similar values and experience.

They were so engrossed they did not even hear the guard rap on the door and looked up together as the captain announced, “Laurent, Prince of Vere.” Laurent was impeccably dressed and groomed, a perfect Prince, and he did not bother to hide his irritation. He glanced over Damen with distaste. Damen felt an answering dislike and purposefully shifted his body familiarly toward Auguste’s, giving Laurent a provoking expression. He was rewarded with a blast of blue fury.

“I do not mean to interrupt. Yet, I am curious. What have I interrupted?” Laurent asked, his voice’s mild interest belied by the frown marring that flawless brow.

Auguste ignored the question and said, “Brother, what brings you here?”

“Concern for you. You have not slept for two days.” This said with severity that did not conceal a certain worry.

“I did rest briefly this afternoon.”

“Whatever you are doing here cannot be more important than restoring yourself. I insist you return to your chambers and sleep.”

Damen attempted, really tried to not smile, hearing young Laurent assume a parental tone with Auguste, clearly his senior by many years. He must have failed because Laurent returned his ire to him. “You, should be in a dungeon rather than caviling with the heir to the throne of Vere. Have a care for your demeanor.”

Damen raised his eyebrows at this affront.

Auguste slammed his hand on the table and dissolved into laughter. “Both of you, stop!”

Laurent looked at him askance and Damen wondered to himself if this man child had any sense of his stick up the ass ridiculousness.

“It is very well for you to find this amusing Auguste. I have only a brother’s care for you.” Now his face revealed a younger self; missing Auguste, even hurt by his laughter.

Auguste cleared his face and went to him, pulling him into his chest with affection. “I am sorry, it must be the fatigue that has me giddy. We are finished for now, yes, Daminaos?”

“We have made good progress,” Damen agreed.

“Then I leave you for tonight and heed my brother’s good advice,” Auguste said smoothly with a private look over Laurent’s head that combined regret and a heated promise of _later._


	3. Two Can Play the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I imagined Auguste dressed as a Pet and this happened.

After spending the next afternoon completing their plan, Auguste left him with a lingering kiss, promising “I will return tonight.” 

They had gotten down to the finer points of the politics involved in establishing Delpha as a neutral territory. Auguste was used to persuading everyone to his point of view, and having come of age as the Golden Prince, at first assumed he could sweep Damen along with him. 

He had made full use of his arsenal of charm, which was difficult to resist at times. When he smiled at Damen with those laughing blue eyes, regarding him warmly and confidently as he took charge, Damen found himself far from immune. He was simply so assured and likeable it seemed natural to follow him. 

Then, he was a prolific flirt, appreciatively purveying Damen’s body as he explained the intricate relations between the crown and the Akielon kyroi. His hand lightly caressingly down Damen’s arm as he brought his attention to an area of the map they were discussing. Playful, knowing glances that clearly recalled their first encounter while explaining the stratagem of Veretian court alliances. 

Damen resisted the urge to be easily swayed. He hoped he gave as good as he got, making sure it was a paced exchange, each giving the other information piece by piece, slowly building mutual trust. 

He had been curious, “Have you told your brother of our alliance?”

Auguste had answered, “It might confuse his loyalties and worry him that I am conspiring with the enemy.”

Damen had nothing to say to that. Theirs was an unusual alliance and held together by a mutual desire to develop peaceful relations between their countries. It danced along the edge of colluding with the enemy yet he was confident they had an honest purpose. 

At one point taking a break for refreshments, they were drawn into dissecting their fight. Although Auguste was not about to give Damen a sword and another go, they couldn’t prevent themselves from acting out a few passes and demonstrating footwork and lines of attack. They were both masters of the sword in their particular styles, equally intrigued by each other’s approach.

Now, as the day faded, the room’s hanging copper lamps cast a mysterious aura in the room, softening the intricate Veretian decorations that Damen found oppressive. Challis burned in a bronze brazier. Damen felt a restless yearning for home and Nikandros. The thought of seeing Nik very soon lightened his heart. He knew Nik would be chaffing to retrieve him and would arrive at the earliest opportunity. 

Tonight though was for Auguste.

Auguste entered silently with no announcement. He was cloaked, and only his shadowed face could be glimpsed. As he cast back the hood and dropped the cloak, Damen’s pulse leaped. A very different Auguste regarded him. 

His eyes were lined with kohl, darkening them a deeper blue and accenting their slant above finely molded cheekbones. Silver paint gilded his face and torso. 

Damen's heart accelerated as Auguste prowled gracefully towards him, the violet silks he wore revealing his body seductively. He wore fine looping chains on his chest and hips. Amethyst studded pins caught up one side of his long hair in an intricate design. The silken garment shifted and Damen saw one loop of the chains were attached to jeweled clamps on his nipples. 

His handsomeness was transformed by the paint and clothing, yet he was no less masculine. He was made into something wild and fey with an edge of dangerousness.

Damen found himself speechless, all his attention overwhelmed by his immediate hot arousal, as Auguste simply straddled his body. Without a word, he pressed his lips to his own in a kiss of invitation. Damen caught the scent of amber and the taste of plum wine. He took the invitation, opening his mouth to Auguste’s nip and pull on his bottom lip. 

Just as Damen turned the kiss plundering, Auguste sat back, looking at him with wicked promise and dexterously unpinned his chiton.

Fingering Auguste’s raiment of soft violet silks, Damen managed to say, “The Prince of Vere goes on campaign with the wardrobe of a Pet?”

“The Prince of Vere goes on campaign with his Pet who brings all the accessories of seduction.” Auguste answered with an enigmatic smile.

Damen had a vision of Auguste bathing, anointing himself and then dressing with his Pet’s assistance. His thoughts wandered to the possibilities of those accessories of seduction. Veretians were known to be inventive and even perverse. For all Auguste’s usual wholesomeness, he was after all, Veretian. 

“Are you seducing me?” He felt the words providing him a moment to retrieve his balance. 

“If you haven’t noticed that, I’m obviously doing something wrong.” Auguste said huskily as he pressed into Damen’s mouth with fingers fragrant with amber.

Damen forgot to answer, his attention diverted to those jeweled clamped nipples. He dragged his fingers down Auguste’s chest and then gave a tug on the chain adorning his left nipple. Auguste arched into his touch and closed his eyes as a deep moan escaped him. Interested, Damen toyed with both chains experimenting with rhythmic tugs interspersed with sharp pulls and Auguste’s enthusiastic response had his cock roused and straining to be touched.

Auguste opened his eyes, hot with desire. He reached between them and brought their hard cocks together in his hands, simply holding them in a firm grip. There was something maddening about how he did nothing else as he nipped Damen’s ear lobe, saying, “Place yourself into my hands for this night.”

Damen ardently desired for Auguste to do something more with his hands but marked the trepidation darting up his spine. Auguste had thrown him off balance. It was arousing and exciting but he was catching up. 

“You have me in your hands already. Perhaps you might use them.” When Auguste responded with only the slightest squeeze and stroke he continued, “Tell me what you have in mind.” 

“If I told you that would spoil it.” Auguste said with an enticing tone, “ I have every confidence you can defend yourself if I take unwanted liberties.” Then he stroked their cocks persuasively in counterpoint. Damen had the growing awareness that Auguste was as much a master of seduction as a master of men and the sword. 

Damen stilled his hands with one of his own while he gripped Auguste’s chin saying, “Don’t displease me, Pet.” If Auguste wanted a game it would be one he would control. 

Auguste lowered his eyes mock submissively and murmured, “I will strive to please you in all ways,” and with a knowing smile that dared him to play, “Would you recline upon the couch?” 

Damen lifted Auguste from his lap and pulled him to his chest. He roughly rubbed against Auguste’s sensitized nipples and felt his body bow with a sharp intake of breath. Auguste reached for Damen’s hand and adroitly pulled him to the couch.

Damen reclined and watched Auguste divest himself of his silks. He stooped to retrieve something from his cloak and Damen enjoyed the view. He had two dimples at the top of his perfect ass. The shimmering jeweled belt shimmied enticingly. When he turned the contrast of his lithe hard muscled body and his adornments sent a jolt to Damen’s cock. 

Auguste retrieved a glass vial of oil from his cloak, opened it and in one smooth motion drizzled it down Damen’s torso. Feeling it spread along his skin Damen had an answering heat pool in his belly. 

Auguste straddled him at his thighs and began a sensual massage of his chest, shoulders and arms. He ignored Damen’s straining arousal even while his own brushed against it enticingly. He turned his attentions to Damen’s thighs and hips and Damen had hope he was moving closer to where he was desperately needing him. Auguste’s hands slowed, kneading all around his pelvis which pulled along his cock just enough to taunt him further.

All the while Auguste watched him with eyes half closed in pleasure, the challis enhancing their senses and relaxing them into a carnal trance. 

He poured more oil into his hands and spread it all over Damen’s cock with light feathery caresses. Then he began a two handed massage with the skill of any courtesan or bed slave. Long sweeping strokes, firm pumping, minute attention to the slit and luxurious twisting motions that took him deeper into a sensual haze. Damen abandoned himself to the pleasure, and Auguste seemed lost to it too. He brought Damen to the brink and back down again over and over. Damen bit back the desperate need for release, the urge to beg, calling upon his every reserve of control. Then, without even an awareness of deciding, he curled up and stilled Auguste’s hands. 

“As much as I am enjoying your skilled ministrations, I want to be with you, Auguste, not just have you pleasure me. Come here and kiss me.”

Auguste complied, leaning to kiss him languorously. He pulled Auguste closer by the jeweled chains, hearing a harsh cry in response and then devoured his mouth. Between the hours of flirtation as they worked together and the last of exquisite teasing, his tolerance for being manipulated in any way was over. 

“Let me see if I’ve learned anything,” he said, settling Auguste in his lap, finding the vial of oil and pouring some on his hands. He began duplicating and improvising on the moves Auguste had used, saying, “Instruct me as you wish.” 

Soon, Auguste was writhing in his lap, surrendering with a sound between a groan and a laugh, “You are a quick study. Fuck yes, Damen. That’s so good.” 

“Fucking is a very good idea,” Damen growled. “Did you prepare in every way a Pet should?”

“Yes…” Auguste hissed as Damen reached along his entrance and found his answer. 

Auguste adjusted his position so that they were aligned, his eyes slit with intensity. He was one of the most tempting and erotic sights Damen could recall. The taut sculpted lines of his body, the exotically painted beauty of his face, and the fierce way he was now going after his pleasure. 

Auguste lowered himself with determination, no slow opening but a strong, controlled descent that had them quickly joined in one hot, breathless slide. Damen gripped Auguste’s back for purchase as tight delicious heat enveloped his cock. Auguste leaned back, balancing himself on both arms and began moving, his head thrown back ecstatically and his legs powerfully clamped around Damen’s hips. Damen rocked into him, and together they found a rhythm that had them both harshly panting and groaning their pleasure. 

Wrapping his arms around Auguste, Damen unbalanced his position and pulled him to his chest, driving deeper. Auguste gave a long undulate cry. Damen stilled his mouth with a ravaging kiss and reached between them to find the chains. Auguste writhed and moaned into the kiss, grinding himself instinctually as Damen plied his clamped nipples. 

Damen adjusted the angle, rotating his hips slowly. Auguste came apart, his body shaking, his cries reaching a crescendo. Moving his hand from the clamps to Auguste’s cock, he gave him the friction he needed. Auguste erupted, his cock jerking, his inner muscles spasming. Damen let his body finally take the rhythm it wanted, abandoning himself to purely fucking. The denial of so many releases built a ravenous, sublime tension that exploded from his core and racked his entire body.

They gasped in each other’s arms for long moments and then Auguste found his lips in a slow, sweet kiss unlike any they had shared. Aftershocks of pleasure rolled through Damen as they kissed. 

They unwound from each other and lay back. Auguste turned his head to catch his eyes and smiled languorously. Damen returned the smile, sure Auguste found the same look of repletion on his face. 

“You are full of surprises.” He was just fully absorbing the fact that the Veretian heir was in his bed arrayed like the most expensive Pet. 

“No less you,” Auguste replied. “It is the rare man that can last through those special arts and still fuck me into oblivion.” 

Damen allowed, “I was very motivated.”

Auguste said teasingly, “It was another duel. Who won this one?” 

“Let’s call it a draw. You took first blood but I unarmed you at the end.”

Auguste shook his head with a low, satisfied laugh. “That you did Damen, as much as I don’t like to admit it.”

Damen grinned, “Met your match tonight?”

Auguste admitted with honesty, “I believe I have.”


	4. Erômenos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niikandros and Damen reunite. Their past is complicated but their love is unbreakable.

It was the morning he was to be released to Nikandros. As he was escorted into the receiving hall, he saw the Veretian contingent assembled. Auguste’s Captain, young Laurent and a few lesser advisors were seated on each side of the dais where Auguste stood. Circled around the assembly were numerous soldiers bristling with weapons. 

There was tension in the air and in the way Auguste acknowledged him. He was dressed in dark green court dress, his beauty now austere and remote as his manner. Auguste had transformed once more.

Nikandros was announced and entered the hall in full regalia He wore an ebony cloak, caught with medallions at each shoulder, vambraces and light armor. His dark hair was pulled back as though going into battle. He made a formidable presence and Damen felt his usual admiration and pride in him. Their eyes met briefly in one speaking glance.

There was a noticeable shift in the room as Nikandros faced off against Auguste. In the charge to get to Auguste, Damen and his men had killed a fair number of the elite soldiers of his vanguard. Nikandros had killed one of the Princes personal Companions before parlay was established. 

Nikandros bowed, but just on the edge of the necessary. “Your Highness.” Auguste gave him a cool meeting. They were perfect foils for the Veretians’ consumption. The dark barbarian and the golden prince. 

After glancing between them, Auguste addressed the assembly, “I have received a disturbing report this morning. The Akielon army has stalled at Mellos on the retreat to Ios and taken a detour towards Patras. There is suspicion they are gathering support for another assault.”

Then addressing Damen, “Your brother Kastor leads your army, should he move back toward our border, we will have our answer.” 

“My Father will have gone to the coast and taken a ship back to Ios. My brother will simply be dispersing the bannermen and their forces along the route back,” Damen explained. “It is an odd route to take back to Ios, I grant you, but there may be a reason I cannot discern.” 

“Nonetheless, I cannot release you. As we treated, you are not to be released until your army is back in Ios. I have sent a message to your father as to that fact. He has been advised your life is mine if he attacks.”

Nikandros started forward and Damen held him back with a gesture of his hand. 

“Your men will be garrisoned under guard in the barracks. You will remain quartered as before.”

Nikandros was escorted out, with barely suppressed violence in his manner. The assembly dispersed. Despite his disappointment, Damen understood Auguste’s position. 

He engaged Auguste in a moment of private conversation. The need to see Nikandros left his mouth without discretion, “I would appreciate it if Nikandros could be billeted with me. He is my principal, not one of the common guard.”

There was a moment Auguste’s eyes revealed surprise and then sparked with recognition. “You wish your erômenos with you.” The Akielon word exotic from his mouth. 

He registered the implications of Auguste knowing the intimacy of his relationship with Nikandros. Even in Akielos it was known by few, that at sixteen before leaving on their first campaign, the young Prince and his companion entered the sacred grove and made the blood oath of the erômenos. That this was known in Vere, by Auguste, left Damen feeling exposed. Auguste had reason to revile Nikandros and he was human after all. 

Auguste revealed the friend behind the face of the Prince, with a glint of understanding and a graceful movement of agreement. “He will be sent to you. We will confer again when I have more intelligence.” Then as he made to leave he added, “If I hated everyone who cost me someone I cared for I would have no room to breath.” Damen found his own breath was easier with that generous reassurance. His words of thanks stalled in his throat as Auguste walked away with Laurent now by his side. 

______________________________________________

Nikandros was escorted to his chambers and the guards closed the door. Damen turned to greet him with unrestrained happiness. He had removed his armor and regalia. The simplicity of the chiton suited him. Nik moved to him, face unmasked and said, “Damen,” in a voice laden with longing and relief. 

Instinctually, Damen went into his arms. The pain he'd buried the last days quivered down his back and through arms. He surrendered to it, trembling like a horse ridden to exhaustion and Nikandros received it all. 

Nik murmured, “I know Damen.” He did know. How much he had wanted to win for Akielos and his Father’s approval. How close he had come to throwing away his life on a final suicidal gambit. 

“You thought about it didn’t you?” Nikandros asked, fresh anguish in his voice.

“If you hadn’t called out..” His chest clenched and then relaxed as Nikandros stroked his back soothingly.

“I knew, I saw it in your eyes and Damen, it struck my heart like a hammer. I couldn’t lose you, I…” On the edge of those words, Nikandros shut his eyes against that reality.

Damen inhaled the scent of home, of Nikandros, of cypress and the sea. He relaxed into the way they were almost of a height and fit together. They found each other’s lips in a familiar way, yet urgently with the need for reassurance. 

Nikandros broke the kiss his hand going to Damen’s shoulder, “Are you all right?”

“Only a sting,” Damen assured him and for that he received a snort of disbelief from Nik. 

Turning to the subject at hand, Nikandros said, “This smells of Kastor’s treachery. Your Father would not gamble your life, but Kastor would. How neat if he could blame the Veretians for your dishonorable death.”

Nikandros’s deep dislike and distrust for Kastor was embedded from the day Kastor had run Damen through in sword practice. Nik had thrown himself at Kastor in a rage, but Kastor had only struck him down and sneered, ‘He must learn to keep his guard up even with a brother. I but teach him that.’

He would hear none of Damen’s excuses for him. That Damen loved and trusted his brother was a quarrel between them that never ended. 

“Auguste and I have an understanding. We have a plan.”

“Auguste? You trust him? A Veretian?” Nik blazed, his temper igniting like a torch. 

“I have come to know him in these last days. He is honorable.”

“Damen, you but see your own honor reflected in others! Do not trust the Veretian Prince!” Nik thrust his hand through his hair in frustration, his body now taut with anger.

Damen hesitated, considering how best to explain all that had occurred between he and Auguste. Nik saw something in his eyes and realization hit his face. 

“Have you fucked the Prince of Vere?” he asked incredulously. “Damn it, Damen, who but you would seduce your captor?” Nik wrenched himself away from Damen, his eyes furious. 

“You assume I was doing the seducing?” Damen answered, guilt bitter on his tongue. 

‘I know you and yes, it is a fair assumption.” 

“It was mutual.”

Nik closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, clearly attempting to control his anger. 

Damen went to him and took his shoulder, attempting to lighten the mood, “If it helps it would likely be difficult for Auguste to execute me. If it should come to that. But it won’t.”

Nik looked at him with disbelief. “How am I not reassured? I have no doubt the Prince will do his duty. Do you think you are such a good a fuck he won’t?” 

“No, but I am a very good fuck as you can attest. Would you like to be reminded?” He countered, his own blood rising.

Nik’s anger was but one side of his passionate nature and could swiftly turn demandingly sexual. Which was suiting his own mood precisely. 

“Of course Damen, you are you trying to win this fight the usual way.” Damen heard a note of yielding beneath the sarcasm. 

“Yes, will you let me?” he asked, leaning in to kiss him. Nik tried to push him away but he persisted, wrestling him back into his arms. “Please.”

Nik’s face shifted, revealing his longing and desire. With a curse, he twisted both hands in Damen’s hair and delivered a searing kiss. His kiss was a claiming. Damen answered it with his own. 

Chitons were easy to dispense of. The sensation of Nik’s hard, aroused body straining against his was known yet new. Nikandros, who often caught his thoughts, said in a low husky tone, “It’s been awhile since it’s just been just the two of us.” 

Damen sensed an unusual uncertainty in Nikandros. “Do you need reminding?” he ventured, sensing that he’d overlooked something important.

“Yes, show me the way, I may have forgotten.” A deep smile crinkled the corners of his eyes and made half-moons of his hazel eyes.

Backing him over to the bed and pushing him down, Damen knelt above him. Nik reached to pull him into his body but he resisted.

“Let me take my time with you.”

Damen saw the pulse leap in Nikandros’s throat and dragged his tongue over it. His dark skin so like his own, was soft and responsive there. Nik gave a frustrated sound but turned his head, exposing more of his throat. Nik had difficulty with patience in bed, and once passionately roused, craved culmination. 

Although to others he appeared implacable and even harsh, Damen knew he was undone by tenderness. His spoke his heart as he continued to delicately nip along his throat.

“I love you.” Breathed into the curve of his ear. 

While he traced first those green gold cat eyes and then his elegant lips in admiration, “You are so beautiful.” 

As he bent to deliver a passionate kiss, “ Erômenos.”

Hearing Damen acknowledge him as his beloved, Nik caught his face, seeking his eyes, saying brokenly, “Damen, when you say such things…I am helpless to you.”

His throat ached seeing indomitable, brave Nik, vulnerable and abandoned to his touch. His eyes openly exposing every emotion. His sheath of dark hair tangled and loose as he liked it.

He slid down his body and Nik cried out from the sudden descent of Damen’s mouth on his cock. Nik’s response was unrestrained, rocking into his mouth, giving keening cries of protest when Damen slowed or wandered. 

Damen knew Nik wouldn’t last long in his tempestuous state, his face already tinged a rosy red and the first tremors of release along his thighs. He sat back, drawing a long groan from Nik. 

“I want to be inside you. I want us to come in each other’s arms.”

At this, Nik put his arm over his face, reaching for control while still thrusting in need.

“Yes,” was all he seemed able to say, his body on the cusp of coming. 

Damen pulled his arm from his face and said, “Look at me, I want to see you.”

“Give me a moment,” Nik ground out, his eyes wild and desperate. Damen soothed him with tender kisses until he calmed, ignoring his own body’s urgent demand to be joined. 

He slathered Nik’s entrance with oil, gently opening him, watching his face attentively. They stared in each other’s eyes, interspersed with slow deep kisses, until Nik pleaded, “Damen, if I get any more ready!” 

It was Nik’s gaze holding his own, with tears sliding along his temples, that pierced a barrier he hadn’t even known he’d made. He fell into Nik’s desire glazed eyes. Memories tumbled through. Kissing sweet apricot juice from his lips under a blue drenched sky. Nik smiling at him over his shoulder with melting love in his eyes. Nik rising from the sparkling ocean at sunset, dazzling as a young god. His heart stuttered, overfull. How could he have forgotten this? 

Nik held himself on the edge of spilling by sheer will, as if memorizing each expression on Damen’s face. In perfect synchronization, they rode every spine melting stroke, moving slowly and powerfully, their kisses swallowing their sighs and moans. 

After, Damen kissed the tears from Nik’s eyes. “Tell me.”

“Do you remember the last time we were together like this?” 

Damen knew he didn’t and shook his head with regret piercing his chest. He hadn’t paid attention and Nik had. And it had mattered very much. 

“It was the night before Karavek. We bathed in the river, and when we found a private pool we made love. As we always did before the eve of battle.” Nik’s eyes held pure honesty that stripped Damen even further of his ignorance. 

“The next day, early on, I got that gut wound. It was a long convalescence and you followed the campaign while I returned to Ios. When we reunited you were commanding troops, a part of your Father’s inner circle. The next time we were together you invited Charis into bed with us. I never had you to myself again.” 

Damen watched Nik try to keep his tone even and regain his composure. For him, to not make him uncomfortable. For himself, to not presume on what had been. Damen stopped his words of apology knowing Nik deserved better than that. He deserved the truth which Damen was beginning to feel revealed. He had been so blind. 

Nik considered him with careful eyes. 

Damen started out faltering, “I remember when you were wounded. I don’t remember after, until the physician came to the field with a pallet. He looked at your wound and said the gut was not nicked but it was exposed. You had a chance. I had never been so afraid. You looked like death. We had both seen men die of gut wounds…I wanted to storm the citadel of the gods and hold them at sword point to save your life.” 

Nik continued, “When I fell, you slaughtered anyone who came near me. Your guard circled me at your command. Then I knew nothing until days later, when I awoke to find you sleeping next to me. I was told you hadn’t eaten, had barely slept and finally given way to exhaustion only hours before.” 

“Nik, that was a year ago. How did I not see that I held myself away from you after? That I protected myself at your expense. That I was a coward.”

Nik was quiet, then he said, “I thought you needed time. Then I thought you had outgrown me and what we had been. I tried to be satisfied with what remained.” A sense of shock that Nikandros had thought this, followed by self-reproach. Nik had doubted his place in his life and he had let it happen. 

“I think if it mattered to you, you would have noticed. That you did not, that means something Damen.” 

Damen could not deny it, he would not provide easy reassurance when truth needed to be unveiled. His mind flinched from the memory of Nik’s life and death struggle but forced himself to focus and feel it all.

“I truly thought in those first days I would lose you. It was unthinkable but undeniable.” He remembered the despair, the helplessness as Nik fought a fever for a week. “ When we knew you would recover and you were taken to Ios, I immersed myself in my duties. I didn’t know it then, but it helped me not worry or miss you as much. 

Nikandros looked away, seeming to struggle with emotion. “I don’t think you missed me the way I missed you. I ached for you.” Then softly, “As I have these last days.”

Damen was unsure how to measure his feelings against Nik’s. Did his enthrallment with Auguste diminish his love for Nikandros? He had never thought so. They had both had other lovers and shared them as well. How had they diverged? Then, Nik had always been more intense in all ways than he. Quicker to anger, more impulsive and passionate in love. 

“I have been distracted at times. Our duties have separated us. You have ever been in my heart though Nik.” The words felt inadequate. He saw Nik’s face close. 

“I will be satisfied with that then.” Nik’s attempt at a reassuring tone fell flat. 

“Can you be?” Damen longed to make it more right than this.

“We have more important problems than my insecurities.” With a tone of dismissal. 

“Nik, there is nothing more important to me.” In this moment he profoundly regretted everything he’d let be more important, yet found no adequate words. 

Nik replied with a wry twist to his mouth. “Let me remind you the future of the empire and your life are at stake.”

Recalling he’d left off at ‘Auguste and I have a plan’ Damen said, “Oh that. I’ve taken care of that.”

“You have taken care of that.” A flat statement of disbelief. 

“I was just about to explain before we got distracted. When the message about Kastor dallying in Mellos came in late last night, Auguste and I considered the options and came up with a plan.”

“Auguste and you. Developed a plan.” Nik’s cool tone was harder to hear than his earlier scorching anger. “Which is?” 

“I sent Kastor a brotherly message of concern informing him that the plague had come upon Marlas and was rapidly spreading through the countryside. I urged him to move onto Ios with all expediency. I assured him I was well and would remain so as I was now safely quartered at Fortaine for my well-being.” 

Nik let out a sharp laugh. Followed by a look of keen admiration. “You did that?” 

“I am not completely without a sense of self preservation.” 

“You waited until now to tell me this.” 

“I was just about to when the subject of fucking came up and I forgot.” Damen felt laughter well up as Nik raised a very skeptical eyebrow. 

Nik pounced and straddled him. “I am going to enjoy making you pay for that.”

The dangerous promise in Nik’s eyes riveted his attention. “Since we are captives in this accommodating bed with nothing else to do.” Damen teased, glad for the lightening of their mood. 

“When I am finished with you, you will have forgotten it’s possible to consider doing anything else.” His body responded to that particular merciless expression in Nik’s face with a rush of heat.

“Please.” 

Nik found the vial of oil and holding it in one hand, pulled the stopper out with his teeth and then spit it aside. Settling himself comfortably between Damen’s legs, he promised with a wicked grin, “I plan on making you say that a few more times.”


	5. In Another Life

The formality of the public audience was over, as should be any lingering with his captive. Auguste turned away from Damen, determined to cut off his need to prolong their conversation. He felt Damen looking after him, words left unsaid between them. As usual, he had many duties to complete. Rebellion churned inside him, an unwillingness to settle his mind to audiences, correspondence, or reports. He had a restless urge to ride away from the fields of death and the wounded soldiers he visited every day. He imagined wandering through villages, stopping at an inn for wine, and breathing the cool air of freedom in the dense forests of the steppes. The problem was, he imagined Damen with him.

Damen who would soon be reunited with his erômenos That proud lethal fighter with striking features, shining black hair and slanted cat eyes. He had to admit it, he seemed a match for his Prince.

What had begun in as a casual tumble between warriors full of battle lust had become something more over the past few days. A friendship with an equal, another who understood the burdens of leadership and a Father’s legacy. Someone who had taken his full measure as a man and met him at every mark.

Then there had been the interlude with him as a lover and in that he had discovered new delights. He had ordered his Pet to show him his clothing and jewels, with half an idea to borrow a small adornment for piquancy. Naiton coaxed him into letting him line his eyes with kohl, then arranging his hair. Giving him a polished mirror to view himself, he’s said, “Gods Auguste, you rival any Pet. Are you sure I can’t tempt you into bed right now?”

From there he found himself aroused by taking on a different guise and leaving behind the mantle of Prince and Hero. Naiton insisted on the lavender silks and teased his nipples into hard peaks before adding the decorative clamps. “We will see if your barbarian prince knows what to do with these.” Damen certainly had.

He came out of his thoughts by an awareness that Laurent had moved to walk with him as he left the receiving hall. He looked over and caught his eyes on him, warmly affectionate. Laurent who he’d all but ignored in the past days he’d spent with Damen. Who had sought him out only to find him deep into some mysterious negotiations. Or that was one way of putting it. “I have some duties to see to. You are welcome to accompany me or I will find you this afternoon.” He strapped on the demeanor of a Prince with an inward reprimand. _Stop mooning about Auguste._

“I thought I would have Sebastian do some sparring with me. I need practice.” Laurent had been showing more dedication to martial pursuits. Tomes on battlefield tactics had replaced his philosophy books and heroic tales. He oddly missed his bookish little brother.

“I will join you later then.”

After finishing his daily accounting by the castle steward and going over a briefing from the garrison captain, he found Laurent, perusing a map spread out along the table in the campaign room.

“With the Akielon army camped at Mellos, I assume your concern is they will seek assistance from Patras.” Laurent said as Auguste came next to him and viewed the gilded and embellished map. Laurent had taken an interest in the political landscape in the last year. They had developed a pattern of Laurent sharing his perceptions and Auguste tutoring him. He had a fine mind and now that he turned it to strategy, revealed a natural gift. 

"Yes. Our scouts confirm that Theomedes went to the coast and took the royal ship on his return to Ios. The army, led by Kastor, has not been disbanded. The bulk of the Akielon force is but two days from here, while ours is near home.” His fingers traced the routes he spoke of and Laurent nodded.

“Patras has stayed neutral these past ninety years. What would Theomedes offer Torgier?” Laurent asked.

“There is a section of Aegina that once belonged to Patras. It might be portioned off to Patras as a lure. It is but one possibility. Sweetened perhaps with the offer of a Patran princess and a dynastic alliance.”

“You don’t think it is Theomedes though do you?” Laurent surprised him here. He hadn’t revealed these thoughts.

“No, I think it is Kastor, making a play to supplant Damianos as heir. We would fall into his hands if we reacted pre-emptively. He is likely trying to draw us out and we must not let him. I have sent scouts into Patras to intercept any of his couriers going in or out of Bazal.”

He considered telling Laurent about the misdirection Damianos and he had created with the letter to Kastor, then thought better of it. Laurent was not yet privy to the inner circle of Veretian strategy.

Laurent casually settled into a chair, then asked off handedly, “This Nikandros, what of his connections to the royal house?”

“His father is chief advisor to Theomedes. When Delfeur was Delpha his family ruled the state and his ancestor was the Kyroi. He himself is the Principal of Damiano’s guard.”

Laurent took a moment and Auguste felt his carefulness. “So many of your own guard were killed in the battle. Nikandros was the one who killed Alain.”

Alain, a man of few words but a ready smile. He had been raised up through the ranks and taken quiet pride in his inclusion in the Prince’s guard. He missed his steady presence and his way of always being where he was needed.

“Yes, Nikandros is fearsome fighter, a fitting erômenos to Damianos.” Auguste decided he’d see what Laurent did with this information.

“Erômenos?” Laurent said, like he was tasting the word. “What does it mean?”

“It is the Akielon word for beloved. Some Akielon warriors, men who are lovers, take a blood oath to fight at each other’s side and share everything on campaign. It is a sacred rite in their tradition.”

“They are lovers? Oh…I see.” Laurent widened and then lowered his eyes thoughtfully. Laurent was putting together the pieces of the last few days. Perhaps a little more so than Auguste was comfortable with. "They are both very attractive.” Auguste heard in Laurent’s tone, an unselfconscious awakening. A frisson of uncertainty rose up the back of his neck. Were they going to talk about sex? 

"How old were you your first time?” They were now seated in adjoining chairs, canted towards each other. Laurent had one leg up with his arm resting on it, in a casual pose he had taken to recently. He crossed his arms and gave Laurent his full attention. It seemed they were indeed having this conversation and well, someone needed to guide Laurent through the decadence of the Veretian court.

“I was about your age. Father offered me a Pet to teach me how things work. I didn’t want that. I wanted to choose for myself.” It seemed a lifetime ago. In a way it was.

Laurent made a small hum of agreement. “So you chose someone?”

“Yes, you remember Tristan? He was wounded at Sicyon.”

“Was he your erômenos?” Laurent held his soft lips tight as he waited for his reply.

“No, it wasn’t like that. We were friends and one day he kissed me. It went from there.” Tristan had been bold, a year older and unafraid to take what he wanted.

“Have any of your lovers been your beloved?” Laurent leaned back, settling into the conversation. Such an innocent question, yet it struck at the heart of his sense of incompletion. “No, never that.”

“You like Damianos very much. I can tell.” Laurent’s eyes held a perceptive glint. “Yes, he is intriguing. In another life perhaps.” As the words left his mouth he felt an unfamiliar pang in his chest. “Another life, where you are not enemies?” Laurent’s said with a tone of slight admonition. “Yes, that is a complication.” It came out with a note of regret, he wished he could call back. Laurent looked like he’d just had something confirmed. Auguste cursed his unruly mouth, telling tales he didn’t want to admit to himself.

Auguste glanced over Laurent, looking at him not just as a brother, but as a young man on the cusp of manhood. With all the desires of a man but the hesitancies of inexperience.

To see Laurent was to see beauty, it was said, and true.

There were changes he hadn’t noted but did now. His voice was a responsive baritone and he wielded it like an instrument. He had the burgeoning musculature of the sword man he was becoming and a collected grace of movement that was innate to him. He was not so little anymore, this brother of his. There was an aching tenderness in his chest. Time was something he couldn’t call back.

“Laurent, do you want a lover? You have been courted relentlessly this past year. Do you have questions?” Here, Auguste felt sincerely out of his depth.

“I want to be in love. Like in the romantic tales I’ve read.” Laurent’s gaze was frank and unembarrassed. “Perhaps I want an eremenos. For an Akielon tradtion it is very civilized.”

And romantic, Auguste thought. Had he ever had a romance? Or even come close to being in love? Yet, here was Laurent, defining his desire for true love with more thought and assurance than Auguste could credit. He pushed aside his own wandering thoughts about Damianos and Nikandros. His curiousity about their bond. He ignored the twist of something bitter in his chest. “Then, I hope you have a great love, Laurent.”

By mutual accord, Auguste tackled some correspondence to his father and Laurent picked up a book he’d put aside. His thoughts lingered on naming the source of his own disquiet.

It was mid-afternoon when one of the guard came in to announce a scout had ridden in with an urgent report. He entered, having not even brushed off the dirt of the road, making his bow quickly and looking directly at Auguste with something like repressed eagerness.

“Report, Jerard.”

“Exalted. There is news from Akielos. The royal ship King Theomedes took back to Ios has been lost in a storm.”

Auguste’s heart leaped but he made himself reply steadily, “What is your source for this?” One must be wary of such news.

“I met with one of our spies along the coast yesterday. He witnessed a search going on for the wreckage. There is still hope that the ship may have just been blown off course by the storm.”

“When did this happen?” He found he was on his feet, feeling like he did before the battle horn sounded.

“It is estimated that the ship was lost three days ago, not long after casting off.”

“Thank you, Jerard. See to your needs and we will converse again.”

In a moment, the state of play had turned. Theomedes very possibly dead. His true born heir not the same ruthless, warmongering enemy he had always been. His bastard son with the bulk of the Akielon army under his command.

Laurent said it first, his eyes narrowed and calculating, as Auguste could not recall ever having seen them. “Auguste. We may have the King of Akielos as our hostage.”

Auguste’s mind leaped to the possible complications of succession. “If Kastor wants to be King, and I believe he does, he will not disband the army. He will use it as his source of power, saying at this time of turmoil, it must stay near the city. With Damianos hostage, he can take Regency or even the crown.” Auguste said. “Damianos being our hostage is a boon to his ambitions and success. This gives him advantage.”

“We cannot be sure this is Kastor’s intent.” Laurent cautioned. “We cannot be sure Theomedes is dead.”

“Three days is long enough for a ship to correct course and find the coast again.”

He had the added benefit of his insights into Damen’s character and what he had shared about the Akielon political landscape.

“It is common knowledge that Kastor resented Damianos being named heir. If there is to be a new King in Ios, let it be Damianos, a man of honor, not one who would supplant his own brother.”

Laurent met his gaze with an uncompromising expression. “We have leverage over Damianos. We have his erômenos. If Damianos is freed to seize the throne before Kastor can, then Nikandros must remain our hostage.”

With a start, Auguste realized that Laurent had very cleverly drawn him into a conversation about Nikandros. Interwoven with seemingly innocent questions about love. A conversation that revealed his own weakness for Damianos, and Damen’s attachment to Nikandros. He had thought himself the teacher while all along Laurent was delivering a lesson in subtle maneuvering that stunned him.

He looked at Laurent with fresh eyes. “Well done, little brother.”

Laurent acknowledged this with a modest smile. “Thank you Auguste. I am learning.”

“I have just become aware of the fact.” Then, another uncomfortable realization. “You knew what erômenos meant all along didn’t you?”

Now, Laurent’s smile came out in dazzling glory, his eyes alight with mischief. “My tutor rates my Akielon is more than adequate.”

“Let us gather all the scouting reports and then an interview with Damianos. A decision must be made as soon as possible.”

“You would like my attendance? My assistance?” Laurent said coolly, his expression one of mild interest. He had felt excluded. He had made his point.

Auguste looked down at Laurent, feeling irritated admiration. “Don’t be coy. You know you just impressed me.”

“As I strive to do, Auguste. Always.” Laurent said this in a sincere tone, his blue eyes now revealing his earnestness.

His irritation he realized was with himself. When it came to Damianos he needed a neutral perspective. To his dismay, it had taken his fourteen-year-old brother to provide it to him. .


	6. Slipping through My Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damen's and Nikandros’s reunion is interrupted by news from Ios.

Nik indulged in the private delight of watching Damen sleep. In these weighted moments he belonged to him alone. His fantasy of having Damen to himself again had come to life this day.

He shouldn’t be glad given the circumstances yet he’d take this day out of time for the gift it was. Tomorrow or the next week, when they were released, he’d give Damen back to the world, to his duties, to being a Prince. He would take his place as his principal, seeing his orders followed, riding by his side, attending court functions together.

And he would recall this day. Damen’s rough voiced endearments cast on him like rain on parched ground. The awakening of wonder and remembrance in his eyes. The taste of Damen’s hot groaning kisses as they had taken each other apart. His arm now twined around his waist, tightening if he shifted away, then settling with a small murmur of sleepy satisfaction.

He wanted him to wake to receive that seductive, _oh, there you are_ smile. To see the late afternoon sun reveal the golden shards in his deep brown eyes. He wanted to keep him like this as his private possession. His heart was too full yet it ached, because of course, he couldn’t.

While Damen slept, he played a game they’d started when they were fifteen, of trying to choose each other’s most attractive feature. He’d never made up his mind about Damen. ‘I can’t choose, Damen. You are made of beauty.’ Damen often made a case for his most obvious gift but he would pretend it wasn’t even in contention. Which led Damen to prove it should be.

This afternoon, as always happened, just when he chose one, another drew his eye. There was the way his top lip curled up like an offering. It was startling in his face made of strong bones and angles. Then, he admired the sheen of his dark skin along the winged width of his collarbones and continued down to the perfect proportions of his long lethally muscled arm.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of the main chamber door opening and footsteps. They were heavy, booted, not the whisper of a servants movements. He looked to Damen, ready to awaken him but he was instantly alert, used to wakening at any unexpected noise. “We have company,” he said in a low voice and in tandem they rose, instinctually defensive, and faced the soldier as he entered the bedroom alcove, impassively took in their bared bodies and said to Damen, “The princes of Vere require your attendance. I will await you outside.”

“I am going with you,” he said and Damen answered, “Of course”, as they gathered their clothing. While they helped each other dress he said, “What could this be about?” Damen answered, “Something that couldn’t wait until tomorrow.” Then, passing a hand down his chiton, “Are we respectable?”

He purveyed Damen’s unrestrained curls, the distinct bite mark on his neck, his posture loose and easy with a well-loved languor. Gods, the way he looked.

“If respectable means looking like you’ve been rolling around in bed all day.” He tried for sarcasm but it came out helplessly fond.

Damen grinned, his eyes happy and said, “You look….delectable. He shifted his hands through his loose hair, then nuzzled his neck, breathing him in. “You smell delicious too.” He cupped his face in one hand and Nik closed his eyes, anticipating his kiss. The nip and pull of his lower lip, followed by the sweep of his tongue. Then the grip on his jaw that demanded entrance and the full invasion of his mouth that he met greedily. He was quickly lost to it.

Damen let him go, and his body swayed, yearning towards him. A moan of need left his throat. “Fuck, Nik, don’t look at me like that or I’ll take you one more time before we go.”

He wanted to say, Yes, please, fuck me. He felt something slipping through his hands. His sense of duty pulled him short.

“Whatever this is clearly can’t wait.”

“Can you?” Damen teased.

“Come, Damen, the Princes of Vere await you.” He took Damen’s arm, urging him along, then stopped to kiss the pulse at his wrist, showing him all his desire with his eyes in promise. They continued out, their charged attraction twining them in invisible currents.

As they were escorted down the high vaulted, ornate hallways by six guardsmen, he amused himself by imaging how they had settled on that number. _Four is not enough but six will keep them from trying anything._ Truly, if they wanted to escape it would be no difficult feat for Damen and he to unarm two and take down the group. Getting all the way out would be harder but then it was honor that kept them bound.

They were taken through the audience room, to another smaller space. It appeared to be a campaign room with maps on tables, piles of correspondence and sand trays for battle strategy. Auguste and a beautiful young man were seated in an alcove, refreshments on a low table. This must be Laurent. He had barely registered his presence this morning.

There was only one additional chair in the alcove. Clearly they hadn’t expected or wanted him. As Damen strode in he casually grabbed an extra one, and placed it next to his. Auguste and Laurent remained in their court clothing. Silk clad and leather booted. Laurent’s mouth was tight and his posture too correct, clearly disapproving of the Akielon barbarians. Auguste took in their dishevelment with a small smile he didn’t try to hide. Nik liked him a little for that. Until in the next moment, when he began roaming his dark blue eyes all over Damen.

In the interval while a servant offered goblets of wine, he considered the Veretian prince. A face that in a woman would be called heart shaped, but with a strong clean jaw. A long nose with an elegant curve over a wide mouth that even in repose seemed on the verge of smiling. Dark lashed eyes that slanted like his own, giving a sensuous cast to his every expression. And of course the vaunted golden hair that always drew Damen’s eye. He realized Auguste was studying him in return and gave him a challenging stare that said, _You have bedded him but he is mine,_ then carelessly looked away and tossed back his wine.

As the servant withdrew, a strange solemnness replaced the informal hospitality. This did not bode well. He instinctually leaned towards Damen, guarding his weak side as was his place.

 “What is it Auguste?” Damen asked, relaxed and curious, almost sprawling in the low chair.

 Laurent spoke abruptly into the gap, his voice too loud. “The royal Akielon ship is lost and all on it.” For that, the young Prince received Auguste’s sharp look of displeasure.

 Damen’s voice was tight. “When? Before or after my Father returned to Ios?”

 Auguste replied, “It has been three days since they left port and they never reached Ios.”

 Damen clenched the chair arms, his body pulling back as from a blow. So attuned to him, shock resounded in his own body. A small sound of denial rose in his throat.

 Choking off on the last word, Damen asked, “Are you saying my father is… dead?”

 “There was a terrible storm after they left the coast. All our reports indicate a search by land and sea has not found the ship.”

 “They could have been swept to one of the islands. They could be shipwrecked but alive.” Strain threading his usually deep commanding voice.

 “Yes, but as of now, there is no King in Ios.” A simple statement laying their kingdom’s vulnerability bare.

 While Damen gathered himself, Nik scrambled into the opening. With his father being the second most powerful man in Ios, he was used to speaking freely around royalty. Damn these Veretians if they objected. “My father, the Kyroi of Ios, has regency until the King returns.”

 A terrible premonition followed, just as Damen interjected, “Have you any more recent intelligence on the movements of Kastor and the army?”

 “On march to Ios even before our message arrived. The army in full force. None of the bannermen dispersed.” Auguste leaned forward, “You see why we have brought you here. Not only to tell you of your father but to discuss just that. Kastor.

 Words spilled from his lips, unguarded. His hand on Damen’s arm, a plea for him to attend his warning. Damen, focused on him like he was the one clear object in a out of focus world. “There is no good reason for Kastor not dispersing the army. First the diversion towards Patras and now this? We must get to Ios before he does.” Let this not be another time Damen unadvisedly trusted Kastor he thought fervently.

 Damen’s expression warred between worry and confusion. He set his jaw and turned to Auguste.

 “I am your hostage.”

 “If you weren’t?”

 “We return to Ios and guard the crown for my Father. We disperse the army as agreed. We adhere to the treaty.” His voice like iron as he met Auguste’s eyes.

 “And Delfeur?” Auguste’s voice hard as well.

 “We will not contest it while I hold power. I cannot speak for my Father.”

 Auguste glanced at Laurent who gave a small nod of agreement. “We believe it is in Vere’s best interests to release you to secure your kingdom.”

 “Thank you. I promise you it is.”

 “We will require a replacement however. Nikandros must stay in your place.” Laurent said smoothly, with something too like pleasure.

 Damen lurched forward, hot, affronted “Either you trust my word or you do not. I have given my word we will not dispute Delfeur.”

 Auguste said, “As much as I may trust you Damen, I am but my father’s agent. He will expect some leverage to remain. Nikandros is the son of your Father’s chief advisor, Praxis. He is also your Principal. He has value as a hostage.”

 A rush of heat coursed through his body. He restrained his impulse to smash the satisfied arrogance from Laurent’s face. To tell Auguste to keep his roving gaze from Damen. To sweep the delicate overworked cups and plates from the table. Then he broke. “If you want him to succeed, you must send me with him! Stand up to your father you simpering fop!”

 There was a shocked silence in the room. Laurent said, “Bring your mad dog to heel, Damianos.” His face an icy mask. Auguste coolly ignored his outburst.

 Damen reached out to grip his arm, anchoring him, while keeping his eyes trained on Auguste. “When do I leave?”

 “You and the rest of your guard may leave immediately. I presume you will want to travel fast to reach Ios before Kastor.”

 “Yes.”

 Nikandros found Auguste regarding him in an opaque way he couldn’t quite decipher. He returned his look with banked fury. This pretty Prince was to be his jailor, when Damen needed him most.

 “Once I have secured the throne and disbanded the army you will release Nikandros?”

 “Yes.” Then, “You may gather your possessions and meet us in the garrison to retrieve your men, armor and weapons. We will provide you with transport on a ship at the coast. On land, you would be far behind Kastor.”

 They followed their escort back to their room, his own mind occupied with thoughts of finding a way to fight his way out.

 As the door closed behind them, Damen’s eyes were wild with emotion as he whispered, “He can’t be dead.” Carefully, he touched his shoulder, then stroked his arm. Damen turned into his embrace saying, “I have never needed you more,” his voice shredded with pain. He held Damen tight against him as if by that alone he could transfer the pain to himself. He said softly into his hair, “I know. I hate this.”

 “Damen, I could find a way out. I have nothing to do with this treaty.”

 “No, Nik. I will not have you risk yourself and I cannot risk these fragile relations, especially now."

 Yes, of course he was right. Fighting his way out would lead to dead Veretians and break the fragile truce. He was letting his overwhelming need to protect Damen lead to unwise impulses.

 Damen said with disbelief, “You called the Crown Prince of Vere a simpering fop.”

 “It will make a good story for later. All of this will. Songs will be written about how Damianos held the kingdom while Theomedes caught a pirate ship back to Ios.” It was good to share a moment of light-hearted bravado, but there was so much he wanted to say, to give every advice Damen might need, to give words of reassurance and comfort.

 He rushed to say it all. “You were born for this Damianos. Listen to Xander. He is the best of us, always cool headed when things get hot. My father will hold Ios with you and he will not give up on Theomedes.”

 Damen looked suddenly younger, as he seemed to drink in his every word, dark eyes wide and mouth twisted with worry and grief. Finally he nodded, looked around the room and back to him.

 “I have to go.”

 He found he desperately needed reassurance himself, that when he saw Damen again he would not have forgotten this day. That he would still claim him as his. “Nikandros.” In that one word, his name, was held everything he needed to hear. “I won’t forget again.”

Their kiss, sweet and hot, held Damen’s regret and recommitment and the thrum of their awakened passion _._

 The servants brought Damen’s armor and his cloak. He helped him dress, checking every buckle, making sure the fit was comfortable, securing the Lion of Ios pin to his cloak. It steadied them both. They had done this many times.

 Then it was time to part. “We will meet soon on the white cliffs of home.” Damen said.

 One last embrace and a promise from Damen that he would be careful. His own reassurance that all would go well, that Damen would arrive in Ios before Kastor and his own Father would have searched and found Theomedes.

 Then Damen was gone, and he was left in this room, with the scent of their sex, and the bleak prospect of helpless confinement as the future of the kingdom was decided. His body unleashed his rage and when he came to himself, shards of broken pottery littered the floor, and tears, now bitter, came once again.

 


	7. Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This might be their last private moment. He cast his luck and stepped close to Damen, who was strapping on his sword belt. He received a dark eyed welcome, his lips parting as though to speak. Auguste said, “A kiss for remembrance,” and softly touched his mouth to Damen’s. He kissed him with his heart, a new experience, savoring his sun warmed scent, the taste of wild mint on his breath. Damen returned his kiss with a sweetness he hadn’t expected. The center of his chest throbbed with an unrecognizable ache. There was arousal but that was the least of it.

Receiving word that the Prince of Akielos and his party were ready to depart with an escort, Auguste made an impetuous decision. He would ride with them to the coast. It was but an hours ride and he had been itching to leave the fortress.

He called for his riding leathers, impatient as Naiton laced him in. “One more tumble before you let the Prince go?”

“It’s not like that.”

Naiton gave him a knowing look, “Auguste, you haven’t asked me to your bed since he’s been here.”

He hadn’t considered it. Naiton continued smoothly. “I know you well. This one has you enthralled.”

“I am sorry I have neglected you.”

Naiton tugged a chunk of his hair fondly as he moved to his back laces. “Yes, you have and you will make up for it.”

Finishing his work, Naiton purred, “Now, go to your beautiful Akielon stud.”

He had Naiton’s contract because he was the rare Pet who was not only talented in bedroom arts but had a care for his best interests. He was sublimely skilled and equally good hearted.

Nation’s lustrous dark eyes were wise and sweet on his. “Auguste. I want you to be happy.”

Happy? That was a concept he hadn’t ever considered. He thought of duty, responsibilities and preparing in all ways to rule. He felt a lightness open in his chest. Happy. That is what he felt with Damen.

Then he reminded himself. Damen was grieving his father. Setting off to guard a kingdom. This was no lighthearted jaunt. This did nothing to squelch his mood and he was not proud of the fact.

He walked swiftly to Laurent’s quarters. Not finding him there, he jotted out a quick note. _Escorting the Prince to the coast. Will return tomorrow. You have command of Marlas._ He assured himself this unexpected leadership opportunity was a worthy challenge for Laurent. He’d outwitted him earlier, he was ready for this. Of course the garrison captain and castle steward ran everyday operations.

He continued to the outer bailey and there found Damen with his party of seven gathered in a semi-circle around him. He heard Damen saying, “Xander, you will take the place of Nikandros as my principal.” Seeing Auguste, he gave last orders and moved to meet him, “Auguste.”

Auguste’s men came in from the side entrance, already mounted. “We are to have an escort?”

“Of course. I will accompany you as well. I must give orders to the ship’s captain.”

Damen regarded him rather quizzically, then said, “Of course.” He felt his chest and face warm and turned to gauge the party’s readiness, hoping he wasn’t blushing like a green lad.

“We will ride but an hour to the village of Brejolie. I have sent a rider ahead to alert the captain of the Gilded Nymph to be ready to sail on the morrow.”

“The Gilded Nymph.” Damen commented dryly. He was glad Damen could spare a moments amusement under the circumstances.

“I know. Terrible isn’t it.” A smile began and he attempted to restrain it. Intuitively Damen understood. “This will not be a funeral march Auguste. I have hope my Father lives. It would take more than a storm at sea to defeat him. He has survived worse.”

Auguste didn’t have the same certainty, but had to admit, Theomedes was legendarily hard to kill.

They mounted, and in a column readied to leave, Auguste and Damen at the head. The Veretian soldiers next and the Akielons led by Xander behind.

It felt good to be riding, to embrace a small window of freedom and anticipate the rare indulgence of an evening by the sea. They gave their horses their heads and set a fast pace down the Western road. The road to the coast began in fields that gradually turned to dense forests and then followed a sandy bottomed river that led to the sea. Coming over a ridge, they viewed the small village of Brejolie, just a cluster of cottages near the shore and a deep harbor able to hold a few sailing ships. Today, there was only the Gilded Nymph and the fishing boats docked after bringing in the day’s catch.

Auguste had left Damen to his thoughts during the ride, but now he stopped his horse alongside his and pointed to a small and beautiful caravel. “That is the Golden Nymph. As you see, there is no garrison here for our men. We will camp on the beach. The ship’s captain has a home nearby and will be ready to sail at dawn.”

They both attended to their men and gave orders to set camp. Not a poor prospect with the lovely early summer weather and the lull of the waves. A few of the local fishermen and their families came to give obeisance to their Prince. Auguste greeted them warmly and gratefully accepted their offer of food but not shelter. He indicated the Akelions were guests and he would like them to be fed as well, then escorted the women bringing soup, bread and wine down the beach to where the Akielons were set up.

Damen’s men had gathered some drift wood for a fire and rough seating, more for camaraderie than any needed warmth. The women stood back, awaiting their Princes orders. Akeilons brought war but no doubt they could trace some of their ancestry back to Akielos a few generations back. Damen acknowledged them courteously in Veretian. At Auguste’s nod to them, they began serving the food.

“I have sent for the ship’s captain. He will arrive in an hour for my direct orders and our inspection of the ship.”

“Time for a swim then,” Damen said, looking over to where the river entered the sea in a sandy wash. “That looks inviting.” Then gesturing to Auguste’s riding leathers, “And those look, restrictive.”

“Finish supping with your men, I’ll meet you by the river in a while.” Auguste replied. He’d find a way out of this damn hot clothing if he had to cut them off. Being Veretian, he had linen bed trousers in his pack as well as soap for washing and even a comb. Thanks to Naiton. He’d refused the sandalwood scent, saying, “I am not going off on a seduction!” Naiton had replied sassily, “Are you not? My pardon.”

Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he was doing now that he’d had time to think. He could pretend it was just a jaunt to clear his head and see to Damen’s voyage, but at the thought of never seeing him again, something painful caught in his chest. It was difficult to not take every opportunity to speak with Damen and his eyes were too often drawn his way.

He had not been so infatuated since early years. He was used to having his way with anyone he wanted. It had been convenient when he was a hotblooded youth, but as a man, he wanted something lasting and real. Which was notably lacking in the Veretian court.

He considered that it felt different with Damen because they were equals and had so much shared understanding. That and how damned attractive he was. And so very intense and commanding in bed. He could and had challenged him on every level.

After a quick meal he grabbed his pack and strolled over to the river, finding Damen already stripping in a stand of trees. He was quickly comfortably naked. So very Akeilon.

“Need some help?” Damen asked.

He sat on a rock and pulled off his boots, gesturing for Damen to help him with his back laces. Damen again showed his adroitness with Veretian clothing.

Auguste dug into his pack and threw him a ball of soap. Damen caught it reflexively. “Is that a hint?” Auguste shrugged and said, “Yes?” Damen turned, laughing and waded into the water. The view of him naked from behind was a feast for his eyes. He made himself stop gawking and finish the business of undressing, then followed.

Damen had found a sandy eddy and was applying himself to washing. He decided he didn’t need to watch that particular provocation and instead, found the rivers deepest channel and swam strongly against the current and then floated back a few times. By the time he made his way towards the shallows, Damen was stretched out in the sand, face cast towards the last of golden hour sun, looking like bronzed temptation incarnate.

He lazily opened his eyes at Auguste’s approach. “I left you some soap over there on that rock.”

Auguste washed quickly and then sat next to Damen to comb out his hair. Damen turned on his side and watched him attentively. “What?”

“You are very beautiful Auguste. I like looking at you, that’s all.” His eyes half closed like a very large purring cat.

Auguste had received countless compliments, most meaningless flattery. This one, so casually given and sincere, brought genuine pleasure. He wanted Damen to find him beautiful as he found him.

“You are very beautiful as well and I have difficulty looking elsewhere when you are near.” There it was said.

“What is between us is unexpected.”

“Unwelcome?” Was he asking Damen or himself?

“No, but inconvenient.”

“Inconvenient, yes.” That was certainly true. “With our countries being enemies, your kingdom in crisis and the matter of the likelihood the next time we see each other it could be on a battlefield."

“There are those small matters.”

“And your Nikandros.”

“Yes, there is Nikandros.” His voice had a tender note, that Auguste envied.

Auguste handed him the comb. “Here, use this. Don’t you have these in Akeilos?”

Damen sat up and pulled it through his dark tangled hair, then tossed it back and said, “Don’t you know? We just use our horse’s brush on campaign. Less to pack.” Auguste feared that might actually be true.

“We should be meeting the Captain soon.” He walked over to his pack, pulled out the linen trousers and a tunic and attired himself, while Damen wound his chiton carelessly.

This might be their last private moment. He cast his luck and stepped close to Damen, who was strapping on his sword belt. He received a dark eyed welcome, his lips parting as though to speak. Auguste said, “A kiss for remembrance,” and softly touched his mouth to Damen’s. He kissed him with his heart, a new experience, savoring his sun warmed scent, the taste of wild mint on his breath. Damen returned his kiss with a sweetness he hadn’t expected. The center of his chest throbbed with an unrecognizable ache. There was arousal but that was the least of it.

He made himself give the casual smile he knew broke hearts. Damen, touched his face and said, “No, let there be truth between us,” and kissed him once more, deeper and with a yearning that ignited his own. It left him clinging to him and unaware for a moment of where they were.

If there would be truth then he would give it. “Ah, but the truth hurts my heart.”

“Mine as well Auguste.” Damen’s eyes were soft and luminous on his own. He could get lost in them, longed to do so. “You will have a friend in Ios,” he said in that sincere and noble way he had.

“Yes, friends.” He made himself drop his arms and step back. Each movement away feeling like he was letting go of not only Damen but some part of himself he had only discovered.

With a final long look of acknowledgement of what was and what would never be, they set off together towards the shore and the docks.

A tall, imposing man was getting off his horse and seeing them made a graceful bow. Auguste had never met him, but his reputation within his Father’s service was of a steady, skilled seafaring man who kept an excellent crew. He dressed in well-cut trousers, high boots and a leather vest over a light shirt. A man of middle years, with the weathered skin one might expect and a businesslike air.

“Captain, this is Prince Damianos .” Another bow and an assessing look. “You understand your orders?”

“Yes, to deliver the Prince and his men to Ios. We are not guaranteed safe passage in those waters but I will fly a white sail indicating a peaceful mission. We will expect to be stopped and challenged, but having your Highness aboard we will pass.”

They walked down the wharf to the gang plank and boarded the ship. The crew was about their business, rolling barrels of water and food into storage. The Captain indicated the berths below for the men, but added, “With fair winds we should make Ios in a day.”

They were invited into the Captain’s berth and courteously offered wine they declined. As the captain was showing them their route on the sea map, a crew member knocked on the door and the captain excused himself to see to the problem. “We are finished here?” Auguste was asking Damen, when they heard the door being slammed and bolted.

As one they launched themselves and rammed their shoulders against the door but it was thick, solid and hinged on the outside. Auguste whirled looking for an exit. Neither of them could put more than an arm out the portholes.

Damen said, “Stand back!” took out his sword and began hacking at the door. Even with his incredible power he barely made a chip. “It is iron wood,” Auguste shouted to Damen, who clenched his sword and futilely heaved it against the door two handed, his whole body behind it. Damen stopped, breathing heavily and Auguste found himself on the receiving end of his enraged glare.

Then there was the unmistakable sound of the sails unfolding, and a command to cast off carried across the ship.

“Fuck!” Auguste swore as the ship began to move.

Damen raised his sword to his throat, his body vibrating with anger and growled, “What in the seven hells is this?”

“If I had to guess I would say the that is not Captain Almadine and we are about to be sold for ransom.” Auguste answered, his voice harsh with self- reproach.

He carefully pushed the sword aside, steadily meeting Damen’s distrusting eyes. “Think Damen, there is no advantage in this for Vere. I already had you as my hostage! Do you think I would capture myself?”

“I would have thought you knew your own Captain,” Damen said pointedly.

A cold sinking feeling swept through his body and settled in his gut. He had not taken precautions. How had he been betrayed? His mind cast through who had been sent ahead with a message for the Captain. No, Gerard had not returned, but that had not been expected, as they set off themselves within the hour. But of course, they should have met him on the road or he should have awaited them in Brejolie. The first oversight.

He had let his guard down in his own land. He reminded himself there were families, even villages in Delfeur that had old loyalties to Akielos, where they traced their origins. He had assumed the loyalty of the Captain and crew, based on reputation. Gods, he hadn’t even questioned or verified the captain’s identity. The next mistake.

Most damning, he had been distracted by his infatuation with Damen and impulsive in his decision to abandon his post at Marlas. To his untested fourteen-year-old brother. Damen, at the center of all his errors.

Perhaps it was himself he no longer knew. The structures of his well-crafted perfection as the Golden Prince felt shaken. He was in unknown territory. This, was what failure felt like.

Damen interrupted his thoughts. “Yes, it feels humbling to make a mistake this large, to fail, as I well know. Shake it off Auguste. Let us learn who has us, what they want and turn it to our advantage. I am getting to Ios before Kastor.” He was looking at him with both understanding and impatience.

Auguste felt determination rise in him, battle instincts replacing shame. “Let’s begin with an investigation of the captains room and see what we can learn. First, know one’s enemy.”

Damen looked at him with narrowed eyes, a coolness in his demeanor. “Exactly.”

And in that moment, he understood Damen was no longer speaking of the Captain. He was speaking of him and he was once again counted among his enemies.


	8. I’m Quite a Good Commander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurent finds himself unexpectedly in command of Marlas only to learn Auguste and Damen have been abducted. He sets out to discover the plot involved with the unlikely assistance of a reluctant Pet and Nikandros. 
> 
> (Featuring Nik’s long hair in a cameo). :-) Also, there hasn’t been any outright smut for two chapters so: gratuitous sex scene.

The moon shown weakly through the slit windows of his rooms. He was unable to sleep, his thoughts returning relentlessly to Damen and working through the various scenarios he might face in Ios. He recalled his reunion with Damen in every bittersweet detail, which only left his heart aching and his cock hard.

It was not much past dawn when a servant entered and informed him. “The Prince of Vere will attend you for breakfast.” That was unexpected. Why would Auguste be interested in his company this early, or at all? His instincts were raised.

“May I attend you?” A melodious trained voice.

“For what purpose?” He was grouchy from lack of sleep and frustration. He wished this person would quit bothering him. It was bad enough that he had to roust himself for breakfast with the Prince of Vere.

“For your preparations.” He took a closer look at this servant. Lovely and lithesome. Dressed in expensive silks. Bejeweled at the crack of dawn. A Pet.

“That won’t be necessary.” A Pet sent to help him dress? _Veretians_.

“It never hurts to take advantage of your presentation. And you have potential.”

Now, a suggestive tone and an appreciative purveying of his person. He decided to let him have the whole of himself to appraise. He rose from the twisted bedding, naked, his hair a tangle down his shoulders. This must be Auguste’s pet. He doubted the younger Prince employed such a blatant flirt.

“Are Auguste and I to have an assignation?” This was at least diverting.

“Perhaps. Would you like that?”

“I am rather bored in my confinement. I suppose I could raise to the occasion.”

The Pet looked at his stirring cock and purred. “Would you like some help with that?”

He considered this audacious person. Rather tall, umber skin, intelligence in his heavily lashed black eyes. He could be Patran but he heard the faint cadence of Sicyon in his speech.

“Auguste doesn’t mind sharing you?” “He is a generous host. He has a care for your comforts.” A small adjustment of his posture that released the scent of ambergris and let the shifting of his ivory silks reveal more of his surprisingly broad and defined chest. He was altogether exceedingly attractive.

“More likely he wants you to pry some state secrets from my unguarded mouth,” he suggested. He admitted to himself that his recent hot headed behavior had given every impression he would be loose lipped.

“You have a lovely mouth.” This said so sincerely one might almost believe it.

Nikandros moved abruptly into his space and traced his hand along his jaw and over to his mouth, “As do you.” He was no longer bored. He was lonely and as he hadn’t even taken himself in hand during the night, very frustrated. _So. By all means let us play this game._

“Show me what you can do with it.” A rough command. The Pet knelt before him, graceful as a willow. He looked up at him submissively, but with a tone of eagerness. “Yes?”

Nikandros grasped him firmly by the hair, holding him still. The Pet let out a small breath of surprise and a look of genuine arousal passed across his face. Ah. He liked to be controlled. “Open your mouth,” he commanded. The Pet parted his lips, his eyes trained on his own. Nikandros pushed his cock slowly into that plush mouth. “Keep looking at me.”

Nikandros held his head, guiding his movements. Staring into his eyes as they became unfocused and needy. His own arousal built slowly as he fucked that talented mouth. His frustration of the night was assuaged by the physical pleasure of the strong sucking and adroit tonguing of his cock. The kind of pleasure that was more relief than desire. He moved slow and deep into his throat which he tightened in a skilled maneuver. The Pet moaned around his cock, his face flushed. His own body demanded he drive _more, faster_ , but suddenly it wasn’t enjoyable to simply use this beautiful, crafty creature. Despite his body’s desire to drive to conclusion, he restrained himself and pulled away. The Pet’s eyes startled.

Nikandros reached down and brought him to standing. He growled into his ear, “What is your name?”

“Naiton.”

“Your real name. You were born Akileon.”

“No…you are mistaken.”

“You were captured. You served the army and then you found a means to make your way. How you ascended to the bed of the Prince of Vere would be a tale worth hearing.” He was guessing but his gut told him he was right. He let him go. He watched him gather himself, adjusting his silks, putting his disarrayed bright brown locks to order.

“I am Patran.”

“So you say? I hear the accent of Sicyon in your Akielon, although a Veretian would never pick it out. It is also unusual for a Veretian Pet to speak such very authentic Akeilon.”

Nation gave him a guarded look but said nothing. What could he say?

“Now tell me why you are really here. Clearly Auguste sent you with a purpose.”

Naiton schooled himself to an innocent look as he replied, “I came to attend to your needs. Perhaps you might like to finish?”

He had the urge to take him to bed and enjoy him. It seemed he appreciate a dominant hand. The truth was though, that he missed Damen and wanted only him. This tawdry encounter did nothing to diminish the longing in his heart. There was something about denying himself that felt right.

“Then attend me. Are you skilled at pinning chitons?”

“Of course.” Said with a small tone of piqued disappointment. Naiton bowed ironically and left into the antechamber, returning with a wash basin, implements for shaving, teeth cleansing and hair styling. The thrum of his frustrated arousal pulsed through his body as Naiton made a seduction of each “attendance.” Then, he loved having his hair touched and repressed a shiver as Naiton brushed and played with his hair.

“Your hair is so lovely, and dark as the wings of a blackbird.” Naiton said, lifting the weight of it in his hands, asking, “May I arrange it?”

“Just get it out of the way, a braid or something.” It seemed no simple braid would do as Naiton was clearly creating something more intricate with a braided loop holding the mass of his hair to one side. He probably looked ridiculous. “Stand and I will arrange your chiton.” This too was a more complex process than he was used to, as fabric was gracefully draped and pinned. He kneeled to put on his sandals, and as he finished looked up at him longingly. “Is there anything else I might do for you?”

Nikandros answered, “We have established I am aware of your motivations. Or is it that Auguste is neglecting you?”

“Perhaps I’d like to experience the man who could take Prince Damianos from Auguste’s bed.” This said with some heat in his cultured voice.

“That irresistible is he?”

Naiton simply said, “Usually.”

That was a little gratifying he had to admit. Even if it was flattery, a flash of hurt through Naiton’s eyes told him he had hit the mark. This Pet had been put aside for Damen. He left with the words, “The Prince will attend you soon.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Laurent waited in his rooms for Naiton to join him. Since Auguste’s men had returned in the night to inform him that he’d been abducted, he had obtained everything he could about the ships regularly in and out of Brejolie, their usual routes, the Captain and his crew. They had looked for Gerard and found he was missing. The guard had been questioned regarding their knowledge of his family background and loyalties. A courier had been sent to Arles to inform his Father, the King. All this action had helped order his thoughts and keep at bay his gnawing worry for Auguste.

He found command came naturally to him; his mind assessing each possibility and multiple plans of action being revealed with little effort. Next, to receive the outcome of Naition’s encounter with Nikandros. His lack of enthusiasm about the assignment had been clear in his dark eyed hauter.

_Attend our guest Nikandros. Use your skills to determine what he knows. Tell him the Prince of Vere sent you._

_Perhaps you mistake me for a spy or the lowest courtesan. I am neither. Nonetheless I will do as I must for Auguste._

Naiton entered and made deep obeisance. He carried himself with his usual grace, but he noted resentment in his eloquent eyes.

“Well?” he said curiously.

“Nikandros is under the impression he is breakfasting with Prince Auguste. He deduced I was there to get information from him, but assumed it was under your brother’s direction. He gave no indication he knew the Prince is missing.”

“Do you think he knows anything of the abduction?”

“Most likely he does not. I am used to assessing patrons and I would say he truly believed Auguste had sent me.”

“Might further serving him be of use? Could you win his trust?”

“He was not immune to my _skills_.”

“Naturally not. What man could be?” Laurent drawled, his gaze dropping to Naiton’s bruised mouth. Another Pet may have been affronted by this sarcasm, but Naiton simply acknowledged him with a bright proud lifting of his head.

“You may go.”

Armed with Naiton’s assessment, he was ready to try his hand at making his own. He entered Nikandros quarters, accompanied by a large guard and servants bringing the morning meal.

He saw Naition had made him elegant in a barbaric fashion. Even so, he reminded him of a bird of prey with his usual fierceness of expression and body seemingly always on the edge of swift and precise movement. He made a graceful obeisance for such a powerfully built man. His upbringing in the royal Akielon court had apparently taught him some refinement.

Laurent indicated he could sit and the servants began serving the dishes.

“Would you like some activity today? I know you are not used to confinement.”

He was given a speculative look. “Activity of what sort?”

“Perhaps you would like to spar.”

“I would welcome the opportunity.”

He had not asked where Auguste was. Then he revealed the direction of his thoughts. “Did Prince Damianos and his guard have good weather for their voyage?”

“Yes, all reports are that the weather was fair and the launch successful.”

A look of relief and then his face settled into preoccupation, all but ignoring Laurent. Laurent was rather used to being insignificant. It had it’s uses.

“I will let Auguste know you are interested in a sparring partner and he will assign one of his men. I’m sorry, he could not attend breakfast. The usual business,” he said airily.

Nikandros simply nodded, then added distractedly, “Give him my thanks.” He gave every indication of a man who knew nothing of the abduction. Laurent decided to take another tack.

“I understand your family is an old and distinguished one. Delfeur was once yours. It must be disappointing to have been displaced for almost a century.” Nikandros looked at him as if he was a puppy who had learned a new trick. The usefulness of being underestimated.

“I enjoyed growing up in Ios, serving the King. It is his interests that are paramount for my family. If Akielos should ever obtain Delpha once more and the King would wish my father to serve as kyroi, it would be an honor.”

“Naturally. An honor. As it is the serve your Prince. You are as brothers one assumes.”

“One might assume that yes.” Said in a lazily ironic voice.

“Oh, of course, I just recalled you are his eremenos,” he said brightly. “Not exactly brothers then.”

Nikandros sent him a glancing look of amusement before returning to his breakfast. He had hoped he’d be able to draw out his anger and his unguarded thoughts, but clearly he was circumspect today. Nikandros pushed away his plate and moved to close this meandering inquiry, “Is there something you wish to discover? You might just ask me.”

He found himself rather startled by this directness and the challenge in Nikandro’s voice. He quietly considered his best approach. There was little to be gained by further subterfuge.

“Yes, well there is something. Your Prince and my brother boarded our ship for inspection last evening and have not been seen since. The ship sailed at dusk with them both aboard.”

Nikandros stared at him, confusion, then anger crossed his face. “I told your brother to send me with him! Now your own men have done what? Lost both heirs to our countries?”

Here was the blazing anger Laurent had expected. Here were the impetuous words. And they were honest words. Nikandros looked as if he’d like to lay hands on him. The guard stirred and he waved them back.

“How did Auguste happen to be with Damianos? Oh, never mind. Your brother no doubt followed his cock. Who do you suspect of betrayal? Who had knowledge of their plans?”

That was getting directly to the point and now the man who had dared to call his brother a simpering fop had shown out.

“I am not ready to discuss that with you.”

Nikandros stared at him and said with disbelief . “Who is in charge here? _Is it you_?”

“Yes.” He steeled himself for Nikandros’s scathing put down. Their eyes clashed and Laurent felt his measure taken to the finest point. There was something so elemental about him, so different from himself. He’d never dealt with such a force of nature. If he himself was ice, this man was fire.

He seemed to come to a decision. “We need to work together. We both want the same thing. First we discover who has taken them and to where. Then we gather a party, a ship and rescue them.”

Laurent blinked in astonishment. He made it sound outrageously simple. Then, it was like an adventure out of one of his favorite tales. Nikandros even looked like a pirate. That gave him an idea. Could he pose as one? He found his mind leaping to a heroic rescue and then stopped himself.

This was his enemy and as out of his depth as he felt to be thrust into this situation, he would not be lured into trusting an Akielon. He looked up to see Nikandros watching him impatiently. No doubt he considered him inadequate to the task but he was newly fourteen, almost a man. He would not be bullied.

“I have my own plans. Your help is not needed.”

“Have you ever led men? Moreover, led a rescue mission? Is there anyone at Marlas with command experience to advise you?” It seemed he was fond of rapid fire questioning.

When Laurent did not answer he continued with a reasoning tone, “Do not dismiss my help because we our enemies. Damen and Auguste are depending on us. Our mutual enemies will not be expecting us to work together.”

In truth, there was no commander left at Marlas. There were experienced men in Auguste’s guard but they and his elite fighters had been diminished in the battle. Some through the brilliant, ruthless fighting of this very Nikandros. 

Laurent decided it would do no harm to access Nikandros’s experience, let him advise him and choose any useful tidbits of strategy. He would learn valuable information, some that might be used against Akielos someday.

“It has not been established we have a mutual enemy.”

Nikandros eyed him with the beginnings of respect. “Excellent point.”

“Very well. I will listen to your ideas. It’s true, you have experience I lack,” he said with a humble tone.

Nikandros was not fooled by his change in attitude., “I might have experience but I know a fledgling with natural cunning when I see one. You don’t trust me and you shouldn’t. By the seven hells I don’t trust you.”

“Then we have a promising beginning. A mutual lack of trust but a common aim.” He liked it when Nikandros expression warmed. He determined to hold his own and even best him.

“Where do you suggest we begin?”


	9. Yo ho ho and a Cat Named Esmerelda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter insisted on being fluffy. Damen and Auguste may be kidnapped and locked in the ship’s cabin but they still manage to set in motion an escape plan. With the aid of a feisty cat. Sort of.

It turned out that Auguste was sea sick. Damen’s anger relented as he watched him heroically struggle to not heave. This was not a man who would ever choose a sea voyage. He’d been lying in the bunk, eyes closed with an expression of restrained suffering, staying painstakingly still for the past few hours.

He’d found some water and biscuits in a cupboard and persuaded Auguste to sip the water and nibble on the biscuits. He said he was feeling better but looking at his blanched face, Damen wasn’t convinced. “Do you think you could sleep?” he asked. Auguste smiled weakly and said, “You are a surprisingly skilled nursemaid. First, tell me what you have discovered.”

He had been reading documents from the Captain’s desk and ransacking the cabin for weapons. Being confined yet again after brief freedom, now in a much smaller space, was maddening. At least he’d been able to have the satisfaction of upending the cabin in search of useful information.

“I don’t think locking us in here was the first plan. The wine is drugged with something. It smelled odd so I set it out for the cat. Yes, there is a cat in here.”

Auguste scanned the room with an alarmed expression. _Was he afraid of cats_?

“She lapped up a little wine and fell asleep. Or she may be dead. I haven’t checked.”

Auguste looked relieved. He obviously didn’t like cats unless they were asleep. Or dead.

“I think the plan was to drug us and when we didn’t drink the wine he improvised. Poorly. Now he has two, well one,” Damen gestured to himself, “very able and angry warrior confined in his cabin."

“When it comes to action I will be more than able.” As if to prove it, Auguste rose to a sitting position, his expression determined but his movements careful.

“If you say so. Keep sipping and nibbling. But really, going to sleep would be best.” He realized he sounded rather doting.

“Continue,” Auguste said, gamely taking a sip of water.

“We have our two swords, a rather lethal dagger I found in a drawer, a small barrel of water and of course, some drugged wine. Oh and a bottle of some kind of spirits, almost full. For food, just the biscuits. I’ve discovered no suspicious correspondence. I am no closer to understanding who we are sailing with.”

Auguste gave him a cautious smile. “You seem less suspicious of me than before I collapsed over here.”

“I’ve had time to think. Of course you wouldn’t abduct yourself.” He felt an odd guilt that he’d ever considered Auguste involved. The same way he would if he’d made an unwarranted accusation of a friend. Overall his feelings towards Auguste were confusing. His instincts always ended up veering back to trust.

“Right. As much as I like you Damen, I’m not so desperate to bed you again that I would kidnap myself for another go.” They exchanged somewhat shy glances.

Damen teased, “Not even for that?”

Auguste retorted with a wry quirk of his mouth, “Especially as ocean voyages make me especially amorous.” Damen felt lighter as the awkwardness between them shifted back to that easy camaraderie they’d established.

Having returned to good relations, there was business to attend to. “Who knew your plans? Who had an opportunity to betray you?”

Auguste said, “I haven’t been entirely useless over here. I have narrowed it down to Gerard or Naiton.”

“Naiton?”

“My pet. He knew I was leaving with you. It is more likely Gerard. He took my message to Almadine.”

“A man from your guard?” He couldn’t imagine his own ever betraying him, but then Veretians….

“I’ve never had reason to distrust him. However, an opportunity to kidnap two Princes and the ransom involved could buy a kingdom.”

“Is there anyone your brother would have told?”

“Laurent doesn’t talk to people.”

Damen thought, but didn’t say, _That is certainly their good fortune._

He tired of guessing. “It really doesn’t matter who betrayed you. Not at the moment. What matters is, how do we escape? We have provisions, weapons. They will have to open the door sometime and we can fight our way out.”

“Why doesn’t it surprise me that your first instinct is to fight our way out?” He raised his hand at Damen’s grunt of protest. “Not that I’m against it and I like our odds. We have something else though. A bottle of drugged wine. A porthole. A thirsty crew. How many men do you think it takes to sail this rig?”

“It is a small ship, made for sailing along the coast although it could reach the windward islands. Not more than twelve.”

“Help me find something to use to send the wine out the porthole. Oh, and let’s send out that bottle of spirits. With any luck, by morning some of the crew will be drugged and the others will be drunk. It will even the odds.”

Auguste was looking and acting more like himself. Taking charge. It would be annoying if it wasn’t a relief to see him rallying.

“I knew your being Veretian would be useful. Ever thinking of subterfuge.” Damen realized he was enjoying himself. “We could try bribery.”

“Very good, now you are thinking like a Veretian. It saves us having to jigger some way to get the bottles out and the chanciness of hoping they are discovered and imbibed. Bring them over.”

Damen, unsure what Auguste planned, did as he asked saying, “What are you going to do?”

Auguste whispered, “Just watch.” He peered out the port hole. It was dark, but they could hear a few of the crew’s movements.

“Psst…is anybody there?” Auguste said in a low voice. They heard furtive steps.

“What de ye want?”

“We need some food. We have something to trade.”

“What de ye have?”

“A bottle of good wine, and one of spirits.”

“Hand ‘em over and we’ll see about that food. We got us some apples and cheese.”

“Fair enough, Here’s the wine. Bring the food and you get the spirits.”

A hand grasped the wine. They waited awhile, staying quiet, and then a wedge of cheese and several apples were sent through the porthole. Auguste tossed an apple to Damen with a grin and then surrendered the spirits.

A grunt of appreciation from outside and they were alone.

“Is the cat awake? Let’s have her try some cheese.” Auguste said. “Just to be careful.”

Damen peered under the desk and there was a tentative meow. The cat walked out and stretched as if she’d had a nice nap. She accepted a piece of cheese from his fingers and meowed for more.

They watched as she curled around Damen’s legs, purring and rubbing herself against him. Damen petted her and she blinked at him with brilliant jade eyes. Damen feeling charmed said, “I think I’ll call her Esmerelda.”

“You’re _naming_ the cat?” Auguste asked looking at him rather accusingly. “Just keep her away from me. I don’t like cats.”

The cat, hearing his voice, jumped sprightly up onto the bunk right next to him.

It all happened at once. Auguste shrieked and launched himself off the bed onto Damen, knocking them both to the floor. The cat let out a yowl and streaked across the room to hide once more under the desk. Laughter exploded from Damen’s chest and Auguste rolled off him looking so affronted, so very the haughty prince, he breathlessly said between laughter, “If I ever have to go into battle against you again I won’t bring any soldiers.” More hilarity making it impossible to speak, then, “Just an army of cats.” At this, he helplessly gave into it, lying back on the floor, tears springing from his eyes.

“You are giggling like a girl.” Auguste said repressively.

This set him off even further, and Auguste stared at him, all dignified affront. Damen finally gathered himself, sat up still smiling helplessly and asked, “Why are you afraid of cats?”

“I don’t see why I should tell you.” Auguste replied irritably, standing and brushing himself off with a worried glance towards the cat’s hiding place. A mournful meow echoed through the cabin and Auguste shuddered.

Damen stood and stretched, then sat on the bed and said, “I think we should try and sleep. There is nothing more to be done tonight.”

He twisted himself into some semblance of fitting along the wall of the bed bunk. “Come on, squeeze in here.”

Auguste stepped a bit unsteadily to the bed, clearly still struggling with the boat’s rolling. He lay down with his back to Damen.

“You don’t have to hang half off the bed. We have slept together before.” Damen said, pulling him close. Then, noticing a familiar scent, he murmured into his hair, “You still smell like amber.”

“You smell like a cat.” Auguste grumbled, but he relaxed into Damen’s chest and allowed his arm to stay around his waist.

They settled in as comfortably as two large men could in a cramped cabin bed. “Goodnight Auguste,” he murmured, a smile still lingering and sleep coming easily. His last thought was a very fervent hope that Esmerelda would keep herself under the desk for the remainder of the night.


	10. Perhaps You’ll Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then, unable to restrain his curiosity, Laurent said, “You haven’t assessed me yet.” He managed a bored drawl but his shoulders tensed uncomfortably as he waited.
> 
> “Oh, but I have,” His stomach fluttered, too aware of Nikandros’s slow smile and glinting green gold eyes as he lowered his voice and delivered his answer. “You’ll do.”
> 
> He felt inordinately pleased and detested it. “How kind of you to say so, but your opinion is of no consequence.”
> 
> Note: At end of chapter

Nikandros was absolutely maddening. Within the Veretian court, Laurent was respected, even feared for his ability to riposte the most veiled or vicious attacks from his arsenal of silken barbs. Nikandros, however, challenged him on the most honest level and had not an ounce of deference. This was not a court intrigue but the arena of men who played the game of kings. It was an arena he had viewed from the edges but was now thrust into ready or not. Rescuing Auguste was what mattered he reminded himself as Nikandros put him through his paces.

They weren’t far into discussing the possible whereabouts of the Golden Nymph, when Nikandros once more gained control of the conversation. First, he interrupted Laurent by saying, “Wait one moment.” He irritably pulled out the pins that held his hair in that ornate style while muttering, “Damn Veretian nonsense.”

Having achieved the divesting of his coiffure, Nikandros shook out his length of hair and returned his attention to Laurent. Choosing one of his unpredictable turns of topic he asked “How old are you?”

“How old are you?” he countered. He immediately regretted such a childish retort.

“Almost twenty.” Nikandros answered, as he idly combed his fingers through his hair.

“You mean nineteen,” he corrected, teeth on edge.

Nikandros, acting as if it hadn’t been he who had diverted the conversation frowned and asked, “This is important how?”

“I might ask you that. I, am almost fifteen and you are the one that brought up age.” He couldn’t keep genuine annoyance out of his voice.

“Oh, yes it was me,” Nikandros said, a teasing note in his deep voice that Laurent felt resonating pleasurably in his own chest. “So, you are fourteen.”

Before he could pluck a rejoinder from his arsenal, Nikandros was on to his next question.

“Do you have skill as a swordsman?”

“Is there a point to this line of inquiry? I believe we are discussing the rescue of my brother and your Prince.” He gave it a full dose of his vaunted sarcasm and a curl of his lip for good measure.

“Oh, we are. I am assessing whatever skills and training you bring to the mission. Knowing your age helps me determine a general sense of your abilities. Assuming you have received the standard training of a Prince.”

Nikandros seemed quite serious. There was nothing mocking in his manner. Yet, how infuriating. How dare he take the role of leader and attempt to evaluate him?

Apparently aware of his offense, Nikandros took a conciliatory tone.

“When it comes to a dangerous mission like this it is imperative to assess each man. Your rank makes you no different. Nor does mine. I assess my attributes and liabilities as I do others and we take our roles accordingly.”

“What are yours then?” Laurent pounced on the opportunity to return the focus to Nikandros.

“I think I’d like to hear how you assess me.”

“So you can judge how well I do.” Laurent answered. He felt as if he were skidding down a rockslide.

Nikandros just shrugged as if to say, obviously.

He pretended to give it some thought as he roamed his eyes over Nikandros. Inwardly he considered how Nikandros might turn this back on him.

“I have seen you fight. You are a formidable warrior. One of the best I have ever seen, swift, skilled and fearless.” He waited for Nikandros to preen but he was simply listening attentively.

“Your weakness is your impetuosity and temper. You are unguarded with your thoughts and voice them with little diplomacy. You are too forthright. I would be concerned you might speak or act rashly. You are intelligent but not wily. Not a man likely to use deception. Even when it is necessary.”

Nikandros was about to speak when the castle steward entered and bowed. Laurent welcomed the interruption of this runaway horse of a conversation.

“Yes?” He tried to sound imperious but did he sound relieved?

“Your Highness, the Akielons have returned with a prisoner. I don’t understand Akielon, but they have a Veretian with them who is rather worse for wear. He said he was Captain of the Golden Nymph and he needed to speak with Your Highness. We allowed the Akielon guard into the lower bailey.”

Laurent stood and said to Nikandros, “You are with me.” It was a way Auguste had of speaking as a leader and the words felt right, as did the decisive way he walked out of the room, leading and expecting to be obeyed and followed. Which Nikandros did to his not small satisfaction.

They descended into the lower bailey and found the Akielons in possession of a man with a bloody bandage wrapped around his head. He had a steady gaze but when he attempted a bow he wavered. Indeed he was more than a little worse for wear.

He addressed Nikandros, “Question them. As you know I am fluent in your language and will be following every word.”

Nikandros ordered the soldier in charge, “Report Xander,” to an Akielon soldier with a serious manner and the long braided hair Nikandros favored.

Zander explained that when the ship bearing the Princes had unexpectedly pushed off, there had been confusion and a scuffle between their forces, ending in a standoff and the Veretians leaving. The Akielon guard, under his direction, had searched the area around the docks and found the man with whom the Princes had boarded the ship, unconscious and with a nasty wound to the back of his head. When he roused, he spoke passable Akielon and identified himself as the Captain of the ship. He told them there had been treachery and asked that they escort him to Marlas to speak with Prince Laurent.

“Very good Xander,” Nikandros said with a hand on his man’s shoulder. He turned to Laurent. “Will the Prince’s guard be billeted as before?”

“Yes,” he answered and gave orders to the garrison commander.

Inclining his head towards the ship’s captain Nikandros said, “I would like to hear what he has to say.”

It wasn’t even couched as a request, but at least he hadn’t outright presumed he’d be included. Laurent enjoyed a moment of absolute power and testing Nikandros patience, which clearly was not his strong point.

“Very well. We will adjoin to the campaign room.” He added to the steward, “Bring food and drink for our guest.”

Once they arrived in the campaign room and were seated, the Captain launched into his tale. “I was entertaining the Princes in his cabin when my first mate came to the door with a report of a fight among the crew. I excused myself to attend to the problem. I was barely out the door when I was hit on the head.”

Almadine admitted he had been ready to sail with a cobbled together crew. “We were on shore leave when the Prince’s orders arrived. On such short notice, I obtained what crew I could and that meant recruiting several local men. All seaworthy men, of course.”

He ventured his theory about the treachery of his first mate. They moved to the campaign table and opened the sea map. Almadine indicated the route and destination he believed had most likely been taken by the kidnappers.

Laurent summarized, “You believe your first mate is behind this treason and has taken the Princes to Paradiso in the windward islands?”

“It was the obvious place where all men who do business independent from sovereign countries keep residence.”

He knew of Paradiso, a loose colony of thieves and renegades of every nationality and the largest of the windward islands. He resumed his questioning at a clipped pace.

“Tell me why you suspect your first mate.”

“He has been passed over for advancement. He has been truculent. Never enough to require discipline, but clearly dissatisfied.” Almadine had a grim expression, clearly questioning his own leadership.

Laurent was acutely aware of Nikandros looking between them as they spoke, occasionally narrowing his eyes or making a low hum of interest. It bothered him that his opinion mattered and told himself it didn’t or at least it shouldn’t.

“What do you believe is his end game?”

“It may be revenge, it may be a king’s ransom. Most likely both. Paradiso has its own rough government based on access to weapons, gold and fighting men. Might makes right. Presently the center of power is held by the so called Queen of the island.”

“A woman?”

“Indeed. She is known to have access to the Veretian council, to pay off those who would intervene with her business. ”

“Which is?”

“Piracy, smuggling, and opportunities such as this.”

“You seem to know a good deal about Paradiso.”

“As a man who has sailed the Ellosean Sea since I was a boy, I have evaded and fought against pirates. It is a necessity of my work.”

This made sense and the way forward was clear.

“I require a ship that can sail to Paradiso then, as soon as possible. What are my options?”

“There are no Veretian navy ships along the Delfeur coast. All are much further north at the ocean fortress at Marches. However, I have a cousin with a ship and crew that sails in and out of Brejolie. He may be in port tomorrow.”

The tone of his voice as he spoke of this cousin was not exactly reassuring. “Your Veretian cousin?” Laurent asked, at this point clear about the mixed loyalties of the region.

Somedays he is Veretian, others…” He shrugged apologetically.

“What can you tell us of this cousin?” Nikandros intervened. Well, he thought, Nikandros interrupting had taken far longer than he’d expected, but what was this _us_?

Almadine looked askance, clearly uncomfortable with an Akielon’s involvement in this inquiry, and appeared to gauge how to answer.

“He is a man of business.” Almadine said coolly.

Nikandros gave a snort of amusement and caught Laurent’s eye. “A man of business. Does he do business in Paradiso?”

Almadine looked to him as if to discover if he should answer, then seeing his small nod, said, “Yes, and he owes me a favor as I owe His Highness much for this disaster.”

Nikandros, his arms folded over his chest, watched Almadine in that hawk-like way he had. “What sort of business does your cousin do in Paradiso?”

“He brings provisions to the island.”

Nikandros said, “He is a smuggler then?”

“On occasion. I don’t approve of what my cousin does, but if you want someone familiar with Paradiso, he is that man.”

Having heard enough and seeing his pale, pained face, Laurent dismissed the Captain for some further medical care. “We will talk later.”

Nikandros returned to the dining table and helped himself to some olives and cheese. Arrogant Akielon. Clearly restraining his natural instinct to take charge and no doubt humoring him, he asked “What is your plan, Prince Laurent?”

Laurent strolled over and leaned casually on the table. “Almadine and I will commandeer his cousin’s ship and lead a party of Veretians to Paradiso.” Inwardly he wavered although his voice remained strong and assured.

Nikandros began evenly, “And once you get there, assuming you actually do, what is your next move?” He was remarkably restrained. Laurent rather enjoyed his outbursts. Perhaps he should provoke him.

While he was considering how best to poke his temper, Nikandros moved restlessly from his chair and continued in a quelling tone. “I’m sorry but I do not have much faith in your Captain and even less in his cousin, _the man of business_.”

Laurent circled to where Nikandros stood, closing the space between them. “You don’t think I know what I’m doing.”

“No, actually I’m quite sure you don’t.” That infuriating tone and dead on stare.

He did have a plan. Loosely based on one of his favorite books. He was coming to admit to himself that he could use Nikandros’s help, but he refused to ask.

“Much will depend on what I learn when I reach the coast and speak with this cousin.”  
He knew he was stalling.

“Yes, I am inclined to think Almadine’s cousin knows his way around the island and has some connections with the right people.” This said drolly with a smattering of cynicism. “We can trust that much about him.”

First _us_ and now _we_.

He was drawn to Nikandros. His confidence, fierceness and he had to admit, very fine mind. He may not be a Prince, but he was clearly used to command and his men responded to him with absolute trust and loyalty. It was very irritating to admit to himself, but he had a much better chance of succeeding with Nikandros along. He would do anything for his eromenos and since their aim was aligned, it would be unwise to disregard him.

“No disrespect in this but you are not experienced. I have no doubt you have the makings of a fine leader, but you are not one yet.”

He felt every bit of his inexperience as Nikandros stared him down. He refused to give ground and stayed where he was, right across from him.

“You know I am the best ally you have available presently. Your father will not even receive this news for days and your advisors are not exactly men of action.”

True enough. Both, court toadies, had nervously advised he wait for his Father’s instructions. As if he would wait for a week or more before acting. By then, Auguste could be sold to Kastor.

“There is also the possibility we are following the wrong trail,” Nikandros seemed to muse to himself and then dived to a different line of thought, “Another thing, Damen and Auguste aren’t helpless. If I know Damen, and I do, he will find a way to escape and be in Ios while we are seeking him in Paradiso. There are many pieces in play here.”

Do you think I have nothing to say? He thought irritably.

Even so his blood was suddenly alight with something he didn’t recognize. It was anticipation of a real adventure, not just one in his daydreams. He was surprised by his own eager tone as he countered, “Isn’t that which makes it a challenge?”

Nikandros grinned. “It is for me. I hadn’t thought you’d see it the same way.”

“I am full of surprises,” he said as he sat casually and chose a plum to bite into. He waited until Nikandros was seated as well and asked, “Enlighten me,” to launch into his plan.

“We take a good-sized party of fighting men. We disguise ourselves as the kind of renegades that frequent Paradiso. We make it known we have cargo to trade, perhaps weapons. We also make discreet inquiries regarding the whereabouts and activities of this first mate. Hopefully this will lead us to whomever has Auguste and Damianos.”

Nikandros gave him a satisfied smile, “So we are in agreement. This will be a joint venture?”

“I am considering it. Don’t presume.” He would keep what little edge he had in their exchanges.

After he finished the plum and threw the pit precisely into the fire he looked back to Nikandros. “You will be escorted back to your rooms. I have other duties to attend to.”

Then, unable to restrain his curiosity, “Oh, but you haven’t assessed me yet.” He managed a bored drawl but his shoulders tensed uncomfortably as he waited.

“Oh, but I have,” His stomach fluttered, too aware of Nikandros’s slow smile and glinting green gold eyes as he lowered his voice and delivered his answer. “You’ll do.”

He felt inordinately pleased and detested it. “How kind of you to say so, but your opinion is of no consequence.”

He motioned to the guards and Nikandros rose, making a bow that may have been respectful as he left.

An unfamiliar arousal sang through his body. Nikandros tested him in ways no one had ever bothered to before. His tutors and sword master were too easy on him. His Father benignly neglected his development. Auguste had just recognized him as more than a child. Nikandros, though he acted with bold disrespect was taking him very seriously, assessing him as a man and actor in a precarious mission. He had passed the test, He would do. His confidence in himself was bolstered and his trust in Nikandros began to form. Perhaps he would do as well.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Note: I owe my conceptualization of Paradiso to the Black Sails series.

This chapter almost s(killed) me as I am learning how to push a plot forward while keeping relationship dynamics primary. Feedback is so welcome.


	11. Tour de Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My bang fic is finished and I am happy to be back with another chapter!
> 
>  
> 
> Damen said, “I’m sorry this got so complicated.” He pressed into him, his expression shifting to warm and interested, wrapping one arm around his waist.
> 
> “What are you doing Damen? I don’t want…” A mingling of irritation and arousal. But really, fucking was Damen’s answer to this?

Auguste was pulled from sleep by the sound of voices. Following in quick succession, a series of impressions. A very warm and large body wrapped around his. A rolling movement underneath him and the realization he was at sea. An odd vibration from the bottom of the bunk he identified in the next moment as purring. That immediate, embarrassing surge of panic. The conflict between hearing the conversation and escaping the bed and cat. He forced himself to remain motionless while he strained to hear the talking that had awakened him.

Auguste elbowed Damen. “Listen,” he told him in a low tone. Hoping the cat didn’t take it as an invitation.

“I can’t wake any of them, they’re drunk as my Aunt Eloisa,” a grumbly voice said.

“What in the seven hells were they drinking?” said another irritated voice.

“I found this empty bottle of wine and one of spirits. Shouldn’t be enough to get them all this senseless.”

“Well, Quartermaster unless you can rouse them, it will be you and I and the pilot bringing her into port. This wine was drugged for the benefit of our passengers but they were smart enough to pawn it off on one of the men. Now we have a drugged and drunken crew who are next to useless.”

The conversation moved away as Auguste stealthily shifted off the bed. The cat gave a protesting sound. Damen watched him with sleepy, amused eyes. He reached down to pet the cat and she settled back into purring.

“It seems your plan worked. Hopefully we’ll be able to take advantage soon.”

Yes,” Auguste agreed watching the cat closely. “Would it be wrong to put the her out that porthole? To catch mice or whatever cats like to do?”

Damen said, “Let’s see if she’d like to go out.” He gently picked up Esmerelda and showed her the path to freedom. She leaped from his hands and escaped.

“Now if you could just have trained her to open the door.” Auguste threw back as he moved about exploring the cabin. Several steps and he was at the massive ornate desk that took pride of place to one side. The cabin walls of shining dark wood were smooth under his fingertips. He traced the intricate carving of mythological sea creatures that embellished the balusters, then slipped into the privy to make his morning absolutions such as he could.

He returned and rummaged through his pack for a fresh shirt. Damen swung his legs over the edge of the bunk and stretched his arms overhead. His hair was tousled and his chiton rumpled but as always he looked too tempting. “Do you feel better this morning?”

“Just a little queasy.”

Damen said, “Good. We’ll soon see some action and you’ll be ready.” He moved past him for a turn at the privy. When he returned, Auguste was sitting on the desk combing his hair and Damen’s eyes lit with mirth seeing it.

“You can borrow it as you haven’t got your horse brush.” Auguste said tossing him the comb.

Damen obligingly tugged it through his hair and immediately hit a snarl.

“Let me, you’ll rip your hair out at that rate.”

He pushed Damen into the desk chair and standing behind him began carefully combing out the tangles.

“Where did you learn the fine art of the coiffure?”

“I would not call this mess a coiffure.” Damen twisted around to give him a gleaming sideways glance.

“My mother did it for me and when she died I did it for Laurent. I wanted him to have his own family take care of him, not just be cared for by servants.” Laurent. Who would by now know he was missing.

“That’s…that’s very sweet Auguste.”

“I am not sweet,” he groused.

“Sometimes you are. Like right now.”

He finished with a nudge of Damen’s shoulder and sat on the desk to weave his own hair into a serviceable braid. Damen came around to face him and said “What do you think your brother has gotten up to since he learned we are missing?”

His fingers stilled as he considered Laurent’s perchance for teasing out secrets and plots within the Veretian court. Sitting near Laurent at court functions was known to be dangerous as his seemingly innocent questions and superficially bland comments exposed many a courtiers intrigue. Then there was way Laurent had ferreted out his own weakness for Damen. His brother had no command experience, but in many ways he had been leading people by the nose for years.

“Laurent will suspect Akeilos is somehow behind this. He’ll find a way to discover whatever there is to be known. He’ll question your Nikandros.”

“When he does, Nik, will urge Laurent to action and will argue for his own participation. Nik may seem hot headed and impulsive and he can be, but he is very good at persuading others to do as he wants.”

At this Auguste noticed his small smile and the way his eyes glinted. The fond way he called him _Nik_.

“Yes, I was terribly persuaded by the way he called me a simpering fop while commanding me to let him leave with you.” By the seven hells, he sounded peevish.

Damen’s smile broke out fully. “That’s Nik. Sometimes he oversteps. He was raised in the court and as the son of a kyroi, he’s next to being a Prince in Akeilos. He’s began commanding and carrying out missions with me for years.” He leaned back on his hands and lifted his head. “You saw him fight. He’s formidable. As good as you and I.”

“I am persuaded. Your Nik is a paragon. No doubt if he had been with us he’d have sniffed out the kidnapping plot and killed half the crew.”

“He may have.” Damen said.

Auguste clenched his jaw on a hot retort.

Damen seemed to catch up. “Auguste, are you jealous?” Somewhat incredulously.

He ignored the question and said curtly, “Let us return to the subject of how my brother will respond to the news of my blunder. Nikandros will not have to persuade him of anything. He will be deeply worried, but he will turn his worry into strategizing. He will discover who is behind this and when he does…”

Shit. Laurent might very well launch a rescue mission and try to lead it himself. How he would attempt to accomplish it he couldn’t predict.

Damen was watching him carefully and he averted his eyes. He was inconveniently, embarrassingly jealous of Nikandros. At the moment he was feeling like a damned fool for getting kidnapped, all because he had a tendre for his enemy the Prince of Akeilos. Who was extolling the praises of his erômenos who he clearly thought was a better man than he. And no doubt never got sea sick or shrieked so unbecomingly when he was pounced on by a cat.

“I think Laurent will put things together and try to rescue us. He won’t trust Nikandros though. He completely distrusts Akeilons.” _As I should_.

Crashing in came the stark awareness of how confined and helpless he was in this cabin, on a ship at sea, with no knowledge of what he was up against. Damen regarding him with those dark understanding eyes that saw too much was unbearable.

He abruptly pushed off the desk and grabbed the bag of food. Opening it he took out an apple and a biscuit and placed them to the side, then tossed the bag over to Damen. He found the cups they’d been drinking from and opened the spigot to pour some water. He made himself concentrate only on what he was doing, a habit he’d developed to keep himself clear headed since learning it from his first weapons master.

As he placed a cup of water in his hand, Damen said only, “Thank you Auguste”, in an even tone. They ate together quietly. Damen retrieved the dagger from under the pillow where he had stashed it and cut some cheese for both of them.

Auguste finished eating and feeling more himself, decided to address his obvious turmoil. Being locked in this cabin with Damen, it wasn’t an option to walk away from the situation or deflect it with a light remark.

“I feel a complete fool for accompanying you to the coast when I could have sent my men to see to it. For getting myself in this predicament. For being a sea sick, moonstruck, cat fearing, useless excuse for myself. For blithely leaving command of Marlas to my fourteen year old brother. My brother who I have come to realize will take it upon himself to attempt to rescue me from my own foolishness after warning me against you.”

He stopped to take a breath and added, “The number of things that could go wrong on that score is beyond reckoning. If Laurent ends up captured or dead I’ll never forgive myself.” The true possibility of this was a like a fist squeezing his heart. “Oh and, yes, I am jealous of Nik.”

He stopped to gather himself by taking a swig of water. It actually felt good to say it all, to admit it. It was something he never did. He was always above the fray. Until he met Damianos. _If I had just killed him as I was supposed to in the first place none of this would be happening_ , he thought darkly.

He returned his attention to Damen, “So now that I’ve made my confession can we concentrate on getting the hell out of here?”

“I’m sorry about all of that. I never intended to lead you to this place we find ourselves. Or to play upon your feelings.” Damen was searching his face too earnestly for comfort.

“I know that,” he gritted out. “That doesn’t help.”

Damen approached him cautiously, as he would a spooked horse ready to bolt. His generous mouth tight and his dark eyes concerned. He placed his hand warily on his shoulder. Auguste shrugged it off.

Damen said, “I’m sorry this got so complicated.” He pressed into him, his expression shifting to warm and interested, wrapping one arm around his waist.

“What are you doing Damen? I don’t want…” A mingling of irritation and arousal. But really, fucking was Damen’s answer to this?

Damen pulled him firmly against his body and kissed his traitorously responsive mouth. The velvet texture of Damen’s tongue played along his lips, slowly and enticingly, tasting of apple sweet and tart.

“Come back to the bed with me?” Damen asked, taking his hand. Auguste hesitated, finding himself suddenly and shockingly shy in the dimly lit cabin, his emotions exposed and his body taut with frustration.

Damen said simply, “I want you.”

“Fucking is not the solution to everything Damen.” It wasn’t a very convincing protest, even to his own ears.

Damen didn’t answer, but continued to maneuver them over to the bed, all the while continuing the kissing. Kissing that was convincing him to yield. A voice in his head argued against it and before he lost himself again he wrenched away.

“Damen. We need to keep our wits about us.”

Damen threw himself back on the bunk and groaned. “When did you become the sensible one?”

“Belatedly.”

In counterpoint, a call across the ship, carried from one man to another. “Land ahead!” He sent Damen an _I told you so_ look. He peered out the porthole and saw bright green mountainous islands rising from the sea.

“The windward islands it is.”

He lightly moved to retrieve their swords. Damen took custody of the dagger and tested the balance in his hand. A shared glance and they understood each other. The first person through the door would be dispatched with the dagger and they would rush out in that moment of advantage.

The ship gradually slowed and then the call, “Drop anchor!” They waited, the ship gently rocking in the surf.

Auguste kept look out at the portholes. Eventually, two row boats filled with men were being oared in their direction. “It looks like we have company. Two boats of about ten men each.”

Finally, there was scuffling outside, then the sound of the bolt being lifted and the door swung open.

“Are you coming out? Or do you require an escort?” A rich alto voice.

“Ah, you are shy. Never mind. I’ll come to you.” Amused.

Only one person entered and the door slammed. Dressed in tight breeches and a fitted leather vest. Sword by side and no noticeable concern about theirs at the ready. Long, loose chestnut hair. A face etched in pure elegant lines. Immediately and oddly familiar. Some instinct held Damen’s throw.

“Auguste of Vere. We meet at last.”

Auguste stared.

“And you, Damianos of Akielos. The tour de force. Two Princes caught in my net cast for one.”

He was transfixed by the elusive resemblance to someone he knew. The exact slant to the eyes as his very own. A long limbed grace of movement achingly like Laurent. That one eye brow sardonically raised as he’d seen his Father do many times.

Then he knew. He was looking at a version of his Father, much like the renowned portrait of Aleron at thirteen, capturing the androgynous beauty of the passage between childhood and manhood. Yes. Even the same golden skin, rich brown hair and green eyes.

“My Mother has told me I am the picture of King Aleron and I see in your eyes she told me true.”

With that she turned and gave them her back. “I suggest you come out and accompany me to my home. I assure you, you are outnumbered and my men are wicked fighters.”

Damen pounced, grabbed her from behind and muscled her around to face Auguste, dagger at her throat. ‘I think not.”

She leaned her back into him too comfortably for anyone in her position. “Think this through. Killing me will not help you. I have twenty cutthroats outside. Nor will threatening to kill me bend my men to your will. They are fond of me but they are fonder of their gold. I would suggest you parlay with me. I am reasonable. They are not.”

“What do you want?” Auguste asked. So many more questions ran through his mind.

“Oh, that is a longer story than I care to tell with a dagger at my throat.”

“Damen.” Auguste said.

Damen gave him a dark look. “I’m not letting her go.”

“Ah, you are friends? That is a surprise."

Auguste saw in her glittering eyes his own recklessness on a razor’s edge of calculation. She lived for this moment. How he knew this, he could not say. He came to stand directly in front of her. The resemblance was even more marked at close quarters.

He pulled the dagger down and Damen relented with a frustrated growl. She smiled. It was exactly Laurent’s practiced court smile, sweetly dangerous.

“I am Sylphie. Your bastard sister. However, you may call me Queen. Welcome to my kingdom.”


	12. To the Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahoy! Nik and Laurent are on the way to Paradiso, aiming to rescue Damen and Auguste. (Though they may have different plans on how to achieve that). Their nascent trust is made of a delicate fabric of necessity and prickly mutual appreciation.

So it was that Nikandros found himself on the deck of a ship, clipping through high cresting waves under the bluest of skies and tutoring the young Prince of Vere on sword work. Laurent’s face was blushed with exertion and the sun, strands of his light hair plucked free of its club by the wind. His sheer shirt snapped against his lithe body like a sail. His balance on the slippery roiling deck was as nimble as a cat.

“Adjust you grip so,” he demonstrated. “It will allow you to change attacks more easily.”

Laurent made the adjustment and they resumed, switching more adroitly this time. They were practicing at half speed, developing his footwork, when he leaped to a full on press. Nikandros laughed and met him easily, taking his assault but not driving him back. What followed was a lively engagement that had the men cheering.

Nikandros twisted his wrist and snagging Laurent’s sword, sent it flying. Xander neatly caught it as it spun in the air and again the men cheered. Laurent bowed ironically his way and Nikandros saluted him with his sword.

“You are a good swordsman. If we see action you can hold your own.”

They both grabbed cups hanging on the water barrel and drank deeply. Laurent gave him a sideways glance, pressing down a pleased smile. Finishing his water, Nikandros turned to watch the next pair. The Akielons and Veretians were coming together as they had planned. Seeing their two leaders sharing camaraderie had worked well.

Next, Xander was paired against a young Veretian soldier named Jord. They were both steady skilled fighters and Nikandros felt comfortable leaving them to follow this with drills. Around them the work of the crew moved in well-practiced patterns.

The Gull was a magnificent ship with three towering masts and luxurious quarters for the Captain, Almadine’s cousin Clement. Speculation as to how this man of perhaps thirty summers had obtained such a prize troubled him.

Laurent stepped along to the railing, turning into the wind and raising his arms like a bird about to take flight. His face in profile was elated and full of spirit. Gone was the bored, haughty guise he had first encountered.

Nikandros felt grudging fondness, reminded of how young he was. A memory came of Damen and their first voyage to campaign from sea. Of the small private delight of their hands brushing as the stood side by side on the deck. The way their eyes made the love their bodies could not, each gaze communicating what they burned to do to each other. Damen’s eyes lingering on his mouth making him hard and aching. His own speaking his helpless adoration.

“What are you thinking about?” he was startled to find Laurent returned, studying his face intently.

“I am thinking of Damianos and our first naval campaign.”

Laurent murmured, expression rapt, “Was it romantic?”

He was startled into a laugh. “As romantic as it could be on a ship full of men at war.” Laurent was frighteningly perceptive at times.

Laurent ventured, “You love him very much.”

Warmth immediately rose up in his chest and he caught his breath at Laurent’s audacity.

“I suggest you put your inquisitive mind to another use. We have yet to settle on our roles once we enter Paradiso.” They would reach Paradiso by midday and it was time to finalize their plan.

“I think I could pose as a cabin boy. I’ll have a better chance of being ignored and blending.”

“You blending?" Nikandros grinned at him. “I suppose we could dirty you up a bit. Borrow some of the crews clothing.”

Laurent inhaled sharply, his elegant nose registering distaste.

“Let us take a look at the ‘costumes’ you collected before we left,” Nikandros suggested.

“Yes. Naiton was very helpful in that regard.”

They retired to Laurent’s cabin adjoining the captain’s quarters.

Laurent pulled over an ornate chest and began bringing out clothing for Nikandros to peruse. Silks and velvets were cast upon the bunk. Slooping hats worn by seafaring men, leather vests and linen shirts of various hues followed. Boots of rough buckskin and polished leather littered the floor.

He considered why Naiton had such a diversity of clothing and then startlingly imagined Naiton dressing in various guises for Auguste’s titillation.

They had no backstory. Clement, Almadine’s cousin had advised them. “Paradiso is not the sort of place anyone inquiries about anyone’s origins. Everyone has something to hide. You have something to deal and you are looking for a buyer. Keep it to that. If anyone gets nosy, show them your sword.” Clement was sharing the running of the voyage with Almadine and had agreed to discreetly inquire about the Golden Nymph and her whereabouts.

Laurent sorted through the clothing seriously discussing what a cabin boy would wear. He clearly relished disguising himself. At times he seemed to think this was a romp from a fairytale.

Laurent reached awkwardly behind him, fingers tangled, “Help me with these laces.”

“I am not your servant and I know nothing about laces.”

“Very well. I will call Jord. He’s undressed a man or two I vow.” Laurent said with a sideways glance. Nikandros could only agree. Jord with his dark lashed amber eyes and fine ass had drawn his attention a time or two. It was not seemly to have him undressing the Prince however.

“Are you interested in Jord?” he said casually. Laurent wasn’t the only one who could ask personal questions. Suddenly he was curious about Laurent’s romantic interests. He was of the age for awakening.

Laurent looked up from his struggle with a frustrated glare, “Jord? He is a common soldier.”

“That wouldn’t concern me. A man is a man.”

“Oh, so _you_ are interested in him.”

“I noticed him. I wouldn’t say I’m interested.”

He went over and pushed Laurent’s hands away gently, “Here, let me.” As he carefully picked at the laces, his fingers brushed the fine skin of Laurent’s neck and upper back. It was a soft as a child’s but underneath surprisingly well defined and muscular.

Laurent stripped off his shirt and sorted through the colorful tumble on the bed. He picked out a rough blue linen shirt to wear over his own trousers. A pair of buckskin boots. One of those swooping hats. Then he posed.

“Well?”

He looked nothing like a cabin boy. That aristocratic face and carriage. That cool aplomb.

He choked back a laugh. “It’s not going to work.”

“Why ever not?” Oh, that arrogant brow. That delicate sneer.

His laugh erupted. Laurent’s eyes grew large and shocked. He couldn’t stop. He snorted.

“I. You just aren’t. You could never be… convincing as a common cabin boy. Once you spoke, let alone the way you look.” His stomach hurt from restraining his mirth. “It won’t work.”

“Well then, what do you suggest would work?” Laurent appeared slightly affronted.

_Leaving you hogtied in the cabin._ Trying for diplomacy he said, “Perhaps a different hat. One of those knit ones some of the crew wear.”

Even then, his skin like ivory silk and his long golden hair would draw every eye and speculation.

“And some ash to your hair and face.”

Laurent said, “Perhaps. Now, you need to dress like a seafaring rogue.”

“Then choose something for me.”

Laurent eyed him with discernment. Sorted through the pile and threw him a deep green tunic, dark grey trousers and a black coat. He undressed and began with the trousers. They were indecently tight.

“I can’t move in these.”

Laurent’s mouth was slightly open and soft as he looked over his body.

“Laurent.”

He looked up blinking. “What?”

“Can you find something looser? These are too restrictive.”

“Oh, you’re just not used to it. Try moving around.”

He walked about the cabin, made a lunge, spun and kicked. Yes, he could move, it was just different.

He finished dressing. The tunic was roomy enough to accommodate his shoulders but sleeves were irritating and unnecessary he decided. The coat was definitely too tight. He found a vest with lacings at the side and shrugged it on. Then cuffed boots. A little loose but that was good.

“Am I a convincing seafaring rogue?”

‘Here, you need a sash. May I?” He held a deep gold one in his hands.

He raised his arms and Laurent wound it around his waist. When he was finished, Laurent lifted his eyes to his. They were dilated and his face flushed. His hands still held the sash, so close Nikandros could feel his sweet uncomplicated desire.

He breathed a low warning, “Laurent.”

Laurent moved backwards, startled as a young roe. “I’ll go check on the men.” Then he was out the door and Nikandros was left with a confusion of responses. Most centered around discomfort to be the target of the young Prince’s interest. It seemed the brothers Vere had a weakness for Akielon charms.

He'd tried to put particular lines of thought out of his mind. That Damen could handle whatever difficulties came his way was a certainty. That he would come to further trust and ally himself with Auguste, a bitter truth. An image of beautiful Auguste taking Damen’s cock assaulted him. Then there was that. Also a certainty.

He clenched his hands and instinctually looked for something to throw. Instead he left the cabin, slamming the door behind him and strode the deck to find Xander. He was still leading drills and when he saw him barreling towards him, he stepped forward with an understanding expression. “Trouble with the Prince?”

They moved over to speak more privately. “He is insisting on coming ashore. Believing he can disguise what he is; untried and out of place. How are we to conduct business with him attached to us like a barnacle?”

Xander smiled. “He’s really getting under your skin. Use that famous charm of yours on him.”

“He seems a little too charmed already.”

“Oh? Oh…” A look of amused commiseration.

“Yes.”

“How many of us are coming with you?”

“That is as yet undecided.”

“The Prince gathered Almadine and his cousin in the Captains quarters before you came out. You might join them.”

“Fuck, you are right.”

He found them gathered around the dark solid dining table. Laurent’s cool mask was back in place. He barely acknowledged him with a glance as he joined them. Light poured through the fleet of windows illuminating the elegant interior. More evidence Clement ran a successful enterprise of some kind.

“When we anchor in the main port we’ll see if the Nymph is in harbor.” Almadine said. “If she is, we will board her and take her back.”

“If not, we will disembark to the hub of all activity in Paradiso, the inner quarter. There we will seek the usual entertainments of men coming in from voyage; drink, a meal and perhaps a whore,” Clement said.

Here was the epitome of a seafaring rogue. Watchful, measuring grey eyes, a deceptively lounging arrangement of rangy limbs. Clement was clearly looking forward to spending the Prince’s coin on these entertainments.

“Later, I will make it known we have weapons to sell. I will gather the latest gossip.” Clement said.

Nikandros had pegged Clement as a man with deep connections into Paradiso whose loyalties to Vere were doubtful. He was opportunistic and should their quest offer him a lucrative deal, he would doubtless take it.

“Then we will return to the ship to discuss your intelligence,” Laurent said, blue eyes sharp and his voice authorative.

Almadine nodded respectfully, “Of course Your Highness.”

“Your Majesty, may I suggest an alternative plan?” Clement asked.

“You may.”

“The most prized trade in Paradiso are slaves. The brothels are always in need of new wares. If you posed as a slave….”

Before Clement could finish Nikandros reacted without thought, “You will not use the Prince as a lure!”

“There is no insult intended. As a slave he could interact with other slaves. They would trust him. He would receive information we could not.”

“I will consider it.” Laurent said. “We will speak later.” He waved them out.

When Almadine and Clement cleared the door, Nikandros turned on Laurent and said, “You cannot be truly considering this absurd idea.”

“You do not like the idea of my being bandied about as a bed slave?” Laurent said with innocent malice.

He had had enough of Laurent’s playing about.

“Enough of this masquerade! You are too young, to obviously high born and too attractive to blend in, portray a cabin boy, bed slave or in any way be an asset to finding Damen and your brother. If you want us to succeed stay on the ship and let those of us with experience proceed!”

Laurent ignored his main points. “You find me attractive?” Suddenly and shockingly, he exuded a potent allure.

“Stop this ridiculous flirting with me!” He gritted out. “You are fourteen years old! Nothing is happening between us.”

“I suggest you tell that to your cock. Those trousers hide nothing.”

Nikandros realized he was roused, by anger and as often followed for him, desire. He missed Damen. Wanted him. Laurent was a distraction and an annoyance. His cock was confused he assured himself.

“Go ahead, pose as a bed slave. Let Clement shop you around. Let the lowest of brothel keepers fondle you. See how well you keep your composure then,” he snarled, standing and leaning over Laurent.

“I thank you for your concern. It is misplaced. You may think me an untried child, but I have been raised in the Veretian court. I have navigated dangerous depths for years.”

“By the seven hells you are stubborn!”

Laurent looked inordinately pleased by his show of temper. He caught himself. “At least let us bring all our men. They can go in separate groups but be at the ready if we need them.”

“I agree. Give your men orders and I will do the same with mine. We are finished here.”

He left Laurent with a mixture of relief and frustration.

He climbed the steps to the quarterdeck and asked the pilot. “How close to Paradiso?”

“You may see the islands on the horizon, just there,” he pointed. Nikandros shaded his eyes and saw a blue gray shapes jutting up almost undistinguishable from the sea. He watched the shapes grow closer until he could make out a wide harbor filled with ships. When they anchored he descended to gather his men. And waited for a sign of Laurent.

“Where the hell is the Prince?” he growled to Xander, who was standing to his right.

And then his question was answered. Laurent sauntered from his cabin arrayed in a short velvet cloak over a silk peplumed shirt and tight trousers all in hues of sea green. Bright jewels dangled from his ears and kohl outlined his eyes. His long shining hair was in a loose braid down his chest. Apparently he had settled on his role. He looked older, seductive and slightly dangerous.

He swayed over to Clement and took his arm. Clement who raked his too familiar gaze all over his Prince. “I will pose as your Pet and we will be inseparable. Everything you see and hear, I will,” Laurent said, tossing back his cloak and stroking the dagger strapped on his hip.

Nikandros considered just when Laurent had conceived this plan. Had it been since he had collected this clothing from Auguste’s pet or in just the last hour?

Their eyes met, Laurent insouciant, poised and singularly lovely. He could incite a war in this guise. Nikandros inclined his head in subtle acknowledgement. _Well played_. Laurent’s eyes gleamed.

Laurent and the Veretians were in the first boat rowed to shore. Nikandros took a steadying breath and gazed out at the surprisingly neat and ordered port town of ivory stucco and gray stone on the edge of a turquoise sea. The cool salt air was bracing. His pulse surged as it always did on the edge of adventure.

Damen and he had always had an uncanny way of sensing each other, had played the game of tracking each other by feel in the deep woods as boys, then in the narrow warren like back alleys of Ios. Later it had been indispensable when they were separated in battle. It had only strengthened after their promises in the sacred grove.

He flung out his heart feeling the thrum of their connection. He waited, closing his eyes. There was a wavering and then it clicked in, key to lock.

Damen was here and he was confident he could find him. While the others were occupied in unnecessary spy craft he would follow these currents to him. As he had always hoped for and planned.

After this day, he was assured that Laurent could manage himself. His priority was Damen and finding a way back to Ios before Kastor grasped the throne. Continuing to gaze out at the sea as Xander patiently waited beside him he said, “He is here. Let us retrieve him and let the Veretians have a care of themselves.”

In a low private aside, Xander voiced the rallying call they used in battle. “To the Prince.”

He answered, voice rough with emotion, “To the Prince.”


	13. Trouble in Paradiso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is converging in Paradiso, looking for each other in various directions. Who will end up rescuing whom?
> 
> Thank you MediumSizedEvil for suggesting the title of this chapter!
> 
>  Notes: at end of chapter

_You may call me Queen._ Amusement and some admiration simmered at her bravado. Aleron had a bastard daughter. With the swagger of a pirate. Damen released her from his grasp and shoved the dagger in his belt.

“What do you want?” he asked baldly.

She turned slowly from Auguste and greeted him with the sleek pleasure of a cat trapping a mouse. “Damianos,” she breathed out, a satisfied sound.

Tapping an impatient finger on the head of the dagger, he said, “You may have twenty cutthroats outside but we have you inside. And you will not leave until we say so. So tell us what you want. Or call your men and as they come through that door we will cut them down.”

“I believe you’d have a chance,” she said indulgently. She looked over his body and back to his face with sly admiration.

“More than you know,” Damen answered with abundant confidence.

“It needn’t come to that, as amusing as it would be. Naturally, there is something I want. Come ashore to my home, as my guests. I will explain all and then I will set you off in whatever direction you wish.”

That rich low voice of hers was a weapon and she used it well. It teased along the edges of his skin like a siren’s call. She was using her every wile to gain advantage and he had to admit those wiles were intoxicating. He weighed the advantages of pressing her to an answer versus leaving the ship. They were trapped here. He liked more options.

She said, “I am not so reckless as to make enemies of the future kings of Vere and Akielos. Should I attempt to ransom either of you to your Fathers, this island would be crawling with your armies before I counted my gold.”

With that very good point Auguste entered the fray. “This island will be crawling with soldiers in a few days either way. The strength of Vere against your sell swords.”

“It must be embarrassing. To need to be rescued,” she countered. Then helpfully, “You can avoid that scenario by agreeing to my request. One evenings audience and my ship will return you to Arles.”

Damen quelled an instinctive urge to deflect her words. He needn’t have worried.

Auguste said, “You must be quite desperate for status to style yourself as royalty of this backwater hole.”

Immediately, her cat like insolence shifted. Her eyes sputtered resentment. “You are wondering how far my reach is. Far enough to have you in my grasp. This is no backwater. It is an independent power and I, a woman, hold that power.”

“I am growing bored. State your business. Here. Now.”

“You cannot command me. You are in my kingdom, small and insignificant as you may consider it.”

As Auguste negotiated the terms of leaving the cabin as if it was the treaty of Marlas, Damen considered his place in this turn of events. The battle had taken place less than a week ago. In that time he’d been a hostage, become allied with Auguste, who he found achingly appealing, his father had been lost at sea, and he’d had a reunion with Nikandros that still ran hot through his dreams. Kastor had the army and soon the capital. He needed to return to Ios and staying in this cabin was not getting him any closer to that goal.

He interrupted. “Give us a moment?” Politeness might serve.

With a gesture of her hand she gave them leave like the Queen she was not. He turned to Auguste and and took him firmly by the arm, urging him to the small privacy of the back alcove.

“At least she’s a bit prettier than Kastor,” he murmured, risking a small quirk of his mouth.

Something softly young and confused was revealed under Auguste’s haughter. Ah, his Father siring a bastard was a blow. He pressed on striving for lightness.

“We could barricade her in the water closet. Just say the word,” That earned him a simmer of dark interest.

He continued. “Or you could find out what she wants, make whatever agreements necessary and generally charm her. You seem to have forgotten how but I can attest to your charms.”

The look Auguste returned then was a different flavor of interested.

“We’ll have a change from our diet of biscuits and apples. And a more accommodating bed tonight.” He let a note of promise warm his words.

“Only you would dangle the promise of bed sport as an argument.”

“Auguste. You are the Golden Prince, your ability to win any negotiation is legend. Surely you can wind your way around this island Queen.”

Auguste glanced over Damen’s shoulder at Sylphie as she gave a bored impatient sigh.

“Yes. Of course. I allowed her audacious claims to distract me.” His expression was rueful. “Thank you Damen.”

Auguste took Damen’s hand and with a sly slide of his mouth maneuvered them back to Sylphie. Her gaze locked on their clasped hands and then she curiously examined their faces. Auguste lounged into him, as much as announcing they were lovers. “We accept your invitation,” he drawled.

Sylphie went still, then broke from apparent fascination. Slinking to the door she gave them one more green eyed challenge and then called over her shoulder, “Come along then.”

“What are you doing?” Damen said, a bit shocked by Auguste’s overt show of intimacy. Recklessness silvered in Auguste’s eyes. “Enjoying myself.” His other hand slid up Damen’s neck into his nape, found his hair and pulled it. Pleasurably. “It never helps to be too predictable in tight situations.” Damen had missed this Auguste. Confident, teasing, unexpected.

Then his kiss came quick and breath stealing.

Auguste released his hand, gave him a devil may care grin and slung his pack over his shoulder. “Once we are out go for the row boats.” Excitement fired as he understood. They were leaving on their terms.

They emerged weapons at the ready and were met by a group of ruffians all with swords sheathed. Sylphie stood to the front of them, her hand lightly on the pommel of her sword.

The brightness of the day was a shock and Damen squinted his eyes. The row boats had been docked to their left. Auguste and he caught each other’s eyes, and bolted. Finding the boats tethered below, they simply slipped over the railing and dropped down into one of the boats at a crouch. Auguste used his sword to cut the moorings free. Damen unlashed the other boat as if they had rehearsed it. Then pushing off they began rowing against the tide.

Sylphie leaned over the railing, wind tousling her hair and called down to them. “Sorry to disappoint. I have more men on shore.”

“No doubt. Cutthroats. Fearsome.” Damen said to Auguste, enjoying the feel of his whole body driving the oars. Auguste who sat across from him, hauling to it just as determinedly said, “By the gods it is good to be off that ship.”

He examined their destination. They were some ways away from the town. There was a horseshoe shaped harbor and above it, a stone wall guarding a sprawling chateau of several stories. The shore was narrow and pebbled with a wide path that led up the hill to the main compound.

“We need horses. Let us make way towards those outer buildings and not the main housing,” Auguste said.

“You aren’t staying to become acquainted with your sister?”

“We’re acquainted. We go to the town and hire a ship.”

They put their efforts into guiding the boat away from the main enclosure towards the edges of the bay. As they grounded, they jumped into the surf and let the boat return into the rough waves. One less option for Sylphie and her men to transfer from ship to shore.

They ran lightly up the beach and through an unguarded path that lead to the outer buildings. Damen stopped to check for pursuit. A few men had dived off the ship and were swimming to snag the other row boat. If the shore guards had been roused, they were not in pursuit as yet.

By trial and error, they discovered the barns and paddocks. There they found two reedy boys who gaped as they entered. Auguste said gently, “I am Sylphie’s brother. We require horses to take us to town. I trust you to bring us your swiftest.” They scurried to obey. He admired Auguste’s easy way with them, saying just enough truth that they complied.

The boys brought out sleek dappled greys with spirited eyes. “These are Sylphie’s best.”

“You have done well.” Auguste assured them.

Auguste and Damen had located light saddles and bridles and quickly tacking the horses, led them out and mounted. Auguste spun each boy a coin. “Where to the main road?”

The older boy, pointed, “That way and when you come to the main road, the left will take you to Paradiso town. The right to the countryside.”

“How far to town?” Damen asked.

“Riding those two? Less than an hour.”

“Give Sylphie my thanks for the rescue and the horses. Tell her I already know what she needs and I will see to it that she is treated fairly. Can you remember that?” Auguste said. The tallest, standing protectively in front of the younger nodded.

“Your names and I will recall your help should you ever need mine.”

“I am Auguste and this is my brother Laurent.”

It was another moment of strange coincidence. They had not the time to consider it.

Then came the sound of an alarm being called between men.

“Time to leave.” Auguste wheeled his horse and Damen followed, stampeding down the narrow lane past fenced pastures to a wide main road. They pulled up and Auguste’s horse gave a small buck of friskiness, ready to be off.

“They will expect us to go for the town,” Damen said.

“The two young grooms will report that as our destination.”

“I think your sister is savvy enough to send riders in both directions. That’s what either of us would do.”

“If she has the power she bragged of, she no doubt has her spider web well laid throughout the island.”

“We can follow that stream into the trees up above and watch the road and their movements,” Damen pointed. To the west, woods of pine and low ridges showed the sun lowering. “Later we can circle back to the coast near town and camp out on the beach.”

The stream was shallow and gravel washed. They laid a circuitous trail to confuse trackers. It was a pleasure to be riding free in the bright sun and cool breeze of Paradiso. The scent of the sea and pine mingled, fresh and bracing.

As they rode Damen thought of Nikandros. He was confident Nik had talked his way into accompanying Laurent on a rescue. He might be on ship now and behind them but a day. If they were aboard a larger, swifter vessel they could arrive this evening. That was assuming much, but he believed he was right. If he were to collect Nikandros, he would need to watch the docks.

He turned to Auguste, riding with effortless finesse, his hair loose from its braid with unruly strands around his elegant face. They were not even a week from facing each other on the field. Everything since had built an understanding that belied that short acquaintance.

He considered what he felt for Auguste. It couldn’t be compared to the abiding love he had for Nikandros. Nor was it like the brief fire of attraction he’d chased many times. It was something new, startling and out of his experience.

They stopped just deep enough in the trees to dismount and watch the road. A decorative wagon pulled by drafts went towards the town, a merchant of some kind. Then a farmer returning from market with a cart. Finally, there was movement from Sylphie’s home. It was Sylphie and one man, galloping towards the direction of the town.

Auguste said, “That is Gerard with her.” A tone mingling hurt and disbelief in equal measure.

Damen said, “That is how deep her reach is.”

Auguste’s said, slow and stunned, “One of my personal guard a spy. My Father an anathema .”

There were no words to lessen these truths. Damen waited, a sharp ache in his chest for Auguste. Although siring a bastard was common in Akielos, Veretian law was clear. It was a stain upon your house that could be punished by exile or worse.

Something settled within Auguste. “I want to follow them. I want answers. But we cannot ride into the port as an Akielon and a Veretian. They will be looking for such an unusual pair. We need the element of surprise and a disguise.”

“The merchant who came by. Would he like to trade his wagon for these two fine horses?”

“If he will not, we will find another way to persuade him.” The glitter in his eyes returned. Auguste had absorbed two considerable blows in short order. Damen’s instincts told him a different, more dangerous Auguste had emerged.

 

 


	14. I Am Quite a Good Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never underestimate Laurent. Or Laurent learns not to underestimate himself.

As their boat docked at the main wharf of Paradiso, Laurent was still enjoying the triumph of Nikandros’s shocked admiration as he’d revealed himself bedecked as a Pet. Nikandros, had thought Laurent his pupil, but he had taught him a thing about underestimating him.

He knew Nikandros probably had other plans. Plans that did not involve following them into the den of thieves of the inner quarter. Well of course, he had planned for that eventuality as well as others.

He wasn’t going to let that bother him as he wasn’t going to miss the repartee between them. Or the newly discovered delights of sneaking glances at that body in tight trousers and plotting ways to get Nikandros to kiss him.

Clement jumped from their conveyance without a thought for him. Laurent remained, arranged elegantly, awaiting his assistance as was his right. Unsurprisingly, Clement was a rustic clod with none of the graces of a patron. Noticing Laurent had not disembarked he said, “What are you waiting for?”

Laurent hissed, “Deliver me out, you fool. I am supposed to be your Pet. Not a dockside tart.” Clearly, Clement was only familiar with the later. Laurent’s skin twitched at the thought of the necessity of touching him to maintain their ruse.

Clement extended his arm in a parody of gallantry. Laurent arose and lightly rested his hand on his sleeve. He avoided his prurient gaze.

“We will not wait for the Akielons. It would appear odd for our groups to mix.”

He had already given orders to one of his company, Daniel, to linger behind and follow Nikandros and his men if they deviated from the plan.

The harbor was populated by a fascinating cast of characters. Rough seamen, fishwives hawking their wares, barefoot pick pockets and pirates with predatory eyes. They themselves were drawing great interest. Or he was. He preened and did a good impression of vacuous boredom. Aloud he said, “Really Clement, I must get out of this sun. I need refreshment after our voyage. And the entertainments you promised.”

Clement sent him a confused look.

“I am playacting. Try to keep up.”

Clement was not quelled. He grinned and said too loudly, “Of course my darling. We must see to your comfort.” Then he looked around proudly to see who might be admiring his taste and wealth to have such a Pet. Laurent wanted to kick him in his greasy balls. Instead he lowered his eyes in a seductive way that hid his disgust. A trick he’d seen used by many a Pet at court.

They promenaded along the boardwalk and onto a shaded main street lined by well-kept whitewashed buildings. Each one had window boxes of vibrant flowers and sun bleached shutters open to the breeze. Surprisingly, the road was cobbled and neat, although the alleys diverging off it were less so. He was used to public sex but the number and variation of transactions openly taking place in those alleys made him avert his eyes.

He stopped in the street, playing with his earring and gave Clement a pout. He said sotto voce, “In case you can’t make it out, I am going to pretend to be pretty and stupid. The better to learn what we have come to discover. Don’t touch me. If any touching needs to happen to sell this, I will initiate it. I am not really flirting with you. Don’t get ideas.”

Clement eyed him with amusement. “I know that.” Well then. That was settled.

“Now, describe the inner quarter layout.”

“It is an expansive courtyard flanked by buildings that hold brothels, taverns and markets. Even a church. Alleys run behind and between the buildings and serve as back entrances. The avenue is the most direct way in and out. It is a very rough place, so mind your fine sensibilities my darling.”

“Mind your impertinent mouth. Do not call me darling unless we are being observed. I am your Prince.” Although the entire party had been ordered to treat Laurent like an equal while observed, Clement was taking every advantage.

The rogue had the audacity to purse his lips in a kiss. He reminded himself to suggest his Father investigate Clements doings when this was over.

As they made their way to the quarter, Clement and Almadine were greeted by acquaintances. No one had seen the Gilded Nymph in harbor. They kept moving, avoiding counter questions. His own presence was obviously the focus of much speculation.

The quarter was a bacchanal. Half-dressed harlots leaned over patrons. A cock fight was taking place in one corner. A minstrel sang a very dirty ditty from the stairs of the church. The din of talk in many languages was as distracting as the bright birds flitting about to steal crumbs from tables.

Into this scene Laurent entered with faultless grace. Clement claimed a table in the center of things. One glance from him and the three men who had been sitting there, abandoned it and slunk off. He looked at Clement with new respect. Apparently, he was a top dog of this dung heap.

Clement and Almadine ordered them drinks and food. As they waited, several harlots came over to solicit business. Laurent sidled towards Clement, trying to look possessive.

A delicately lovely woman of middle years, dressed in a full complement of gauzy silks approached. “Who is this pretty thing you have Clement?”

“I am Thierry. Who are you?” Laurent tried for a fine edge between jealousy and professional respect.

“Minette. I own the Mounting Stallion.” Laurent stifled his natural sarcasm at the blatancy of that title. _Was the Rutting Rat already taken?_   She seemed to be inside of the joke, her eyes meeting his archly.

“If you require a room Clement could have his usual. It has a private bathing area and many refinements for the discerning customer.” The way she intoned _refinements_ while giving him a wink of commiseration made him curious and faintly nauseous.

“Thank you. That sounds diverting,” he said noncommittedly. “Perhaps later.”

Clement had been listening. “You might peruse it my darling, see if it is to your liking for later.” Perhaps Clement was not a complete fool. It would give Laurent an opportunity to speak privately with a woman who probably knew much. Then, Clement was likely looking for the opportunity of his absence to amuse himself in one of those side alleys.

He stood and slapped him playfully on the arm, saying, “Be good while I am gone.” Then to Almadine. “Keep an eye on him.” With a slither of his spine he followed Minette.

She said confidingly, “That one is a handful. You must be very experienced for one so young.”

“Yes, well you know how Veretians are.” It could have meant anything but she nodded. “It helps that he is rich and I like to travel.” More nonsense.

“If you ever need a job, see me. You would be quite a novelty. You have the graces of royalty.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you. I try. Patrons like that sort of thing.”

They entered the Mounting Stallion. It had its own walled courtyard where customers could peruse the wares while they ate and drank. The clientele here appeared more serious, gathered at tables in private talk. The harlots were fully dressed and more in the style of courtesans. Laurent decided he had found the true center of power in Paradiso.

“You keep a fine establishment.”

“Yes, a bit different from out there as you see.”

She opened an arched door that went directly into a ground floor chamber, roomy and clean. A large bed dominated the space as was to be expected. Along the wall there were shelves with instruments of pleasure. Ivory and glass phalluses of various sizes, vials of oil, soft ropes and even scarves to blind the eyes. He gave it what he hoped was a professional inspection and said, “Very nice.”

“I know Clement’s preferences,” she smiled. His mind refused to imagine it. He said, “As do I and this will do nicely.”

“There is more in the bathing area.”

“I am satisfied.” The thought of seeing more was too much. “Could I ask you for refreshments? I’ve had none since we arrived.” He retrieved a coin from his inner pocket and pressed it onto her hand. It was generous.

She eyed him with respect. “He pays you well.”

“I am worth it.”

They settled outside in a private shaded alcove and she called a lovely boy about his own age over to her. “Ancel, this is Clement’s Pet Thierry. See to it that they are given every courtesy. You will be at their beck and call. For now, bring us plates of that rice dish and some spiced tea.” Ancel looked displeased. It only enhanced his striking red-haired beauty.

As he left, Minette confided. “He’s Clements usual. Clement keeps promising to take him to the mainland, and seeing you here, he is jealous. But he can join you later. He’s very skilled.”

Laurent, although he’d seen every variation of erotic pairings at court, was sincerely out of his depth. He knew himself to be romantically inclined and less so purely sexual. He always excused himself when the court became loosened and overt.

He strived for insouciance. “He’s lovely.”

Minette perhaps saw a little too much. He couldn’t be sure he hadn’t become flushed. He turned the conversation to another line of talk.

“Tell me of the island. Clement has told me it is ruled by a woman.”

“Yes, that is Sylphie. She is the daughter of a Veretian noblewoman who was exiled here. You know Veretians, so worried about bastards.” This said with an elegant moue. “She is said to be the daughter of a very high nobleman. Her mother arrived here with a fine pay off from that nobleman and built an empire. Sylphie now runs that empire.”

“How extraordinary,” Laurent managed to say.

Their food arrived, a savory casserole of meat, vegetables and rice with a cooling drink. They ate companionably.

There was a stir, as horses clattered up the back alley. A lithe woman dressed in trousers came in through the side entrance.

Minette said with surprise, “Sylphie.” The woman turned, “There you are. I need to talk to you.” In her apparent agitation she didn’t even look at him.

Minette, slid from her chair and with a murmured, “Enjoy your meal,” hastily followed her.

She hadn’t seen him but he had seen her and her face revealed to him a most unwelcome truth. As his mind struggled to make its usual intricate connections, another person entered from the alley. Laurent stilled, seeking camouflage in the shadows as Gerard, from Auguste’s guard, strode through.

His companion had looked so much like a particular portrait of his father that Laurent could have no doubt as to the nobleman that had sired her. Suddenly, unusually, he couldn’t think at all.

A realization broke through his shock. If Gerard was here, then so were Auguste and Damianos. Relief was followed by determination. He trusted Clement and Almadine not at all, but his own men were stationed superstitiously around the quarter.

Ancel approached. “May I be of further service?”

He smiled confidingly. “Yes. I understand you are Clement’s favorite. As you can imagine I strive to keep him satisfied. I’d like to titillate him, surprise him. Would you like to exchange clothing? Then join us later?”

Ancel eyed his fine velvets avidly. “I could be persuaded.”

Laurent stood. “I’m keeping the jewelry though.” He might need any wealth he had on his person. “Oh and I require a sword. Can you arrange that too?” Said prettily.

“I can. For a price.”

_Naturellement._

A little later, he left Ancel the richer and emerged on the edge of the courtyard dressed in dark trousers and vest, a fine linen shirt and his own high boots. His bright hair was hidden under a patterned scarf in the style of a pirate. A decent sword at his waist and at the ready. Jord, who had been standing watch nearby, turned with widened eyes at his transformation.

“A change of plans?”

“Yes. Did Gerard see you?”

“No, but I saw him.” A note of disgust.

“Let us gather the men and find Daniel by the docks. Without alerting our friends Almadine and Clement.” The sky was the deep, deep blue of approaching twilight and while torches were being lit, the shadows would help them leave unobtrusively.

Jord gave a signal and the men peeled off from their stations and made for the avenue. Jord and he followed.

“Have Nikandros and his party arrived?” he asked casually.

“Yes, Daniel sent a message that Nikandros arrived and after conferring with a street urchin, visited a stable, probably seeking to hire some horses.”

“Choose two of the men to watch the Mounting Stallion for Gerard. He will be with a woman dressed like a man. They are working together. One of the men should follow them if they leave, the other will report to me. I spotted an inn on the water, on the outskirts of town as we came in. Tell them we will wait there until at least morning. Did you mark it too?”

“Yes, it flew the Veretian flag. It made me curious.”

Laurent was bolstered by Jord’s loyalty and quickness. In truth, he missed how Nikandros annoyingly but confidently took charge. He had never commanded and while it was heady, he felt like a juggler on a tightrope.

As he waited for Jord to follow his orders he allowed himself the anticipation of imagining Nikandros’s reaction to all he had learned.

Because while he had been obtaining clothing from Ancel he had made an excuse to use the privy. Then, following animated voices, he sidled down a hallway to overhear Gerard and the Sylphie talking with Minette.

He had followed his instincts and it turned out they, and a fair amount of luck, had combined to surprisingly quick results. He had almost laughed in delight as he heard how Auguste and Damianos had escaped their captors. The thought of reuniting with Auguste and sharing this adventure was something out of one of his favorite tales.

He wouldn’t get ahead of himself though. He hadn’t rescued anyone yet. Nor had he earned the reward all heroes received in romantic adventure stories.

A kiss.

He definitely didn’t want a kiss from Damianos though. He’d leave that giant animal to Auguste. No, he was going to entice a kiss from his infuriating, dark and dangerous eremenos. Hopefully, still wearing those tight trousers.

Then, as if he had been conjured by his thoughts, Nikandros was there, walking down the avenue, his hair wild around his broad shoulders, the way his body moved at a confident prowl, igniting something newly beguiling in his own.

He stepped out from the shadows. Nikandros’s sword was out in a breath.

Laurent said, “You are rather delayed for our rendezvous.”

Nikandros eyed him with some annoyance. “Laurent. You never fail to surprise. First you disappear into a brothel and my man cannot keep his watch on you and now you are lurking in an alley dressed like a pirate.”

So. They had both set a watch. Neither completely trusting the other. Nikandros had the audacity to be annoyed that he’d lost track of him. After he himself had deviated from their agreement.

“Have I upset your plans? Something to do with hiring horses?”

Nikandros countered, “What were you doing in a brothel?”

“You are unaware of what one does in a brothel?”

“Laurent….”

“Were you worried for me?”

“I had better been worried for the brothel it seems.”

Laurent thought, _If you only knew the truth of that._

He said only, “I was discovering some small things. Such as who had and lost Auguste and Daminanos.” _And that I have a bastard sister._

Nikandros digested that quickly and then to the point. “Where are Damen and Auguste then?”

“Don’t you know? Have you learned nothing yourself?”

Nikandros let out a low laugh of appreciation. “Clearly not as much as you, but I know they are here and I am confident I can find them.”

“I will consider trusting you with all that I have learned. But first, you will tell me why you hired horses and how you believe you can find Auguste and Daminanos.”

Jord and the other Veretians had returned and their company was drawing attention.

“Let us find a place to talk out of this public area,” Nikandros said.

“Before you arrived, belatedly, we were on our way to an inn on the outskirts of the town.” He gave a signal to his men and strode off. Nikandros sheathed his sword and with a curse followed.

He wasn’t going to make this easy for him. There was no amusement to be found in that. He had started the day unsure, brazening it out, and counting on Nikandros more than he should. He would not make that mistake again.


	15. To the Winner Go No Spoils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a dry writing spell, I am happy to update with a little saucy smut.

Auguste wandered along the beach, boots and shirt off, trousers rolled up. He’d been quiet since they had waylaid the merchant, trading the dagger for some food and different clothing. They now were in possession of the kilts and belted tunics favored by the islanders along with some useful information about Sylphie. The merchant had been chatty, informing them she was invested in several brothels in addition to running a privateering fleet, breeding fine horses and owning farms across the island. She was a woman of wealth and influence as she had claimed.

After finding an small isolated bay with a view of the main harbor and the road, they had tethered the horses and eaten. Auguste had announced he was taking a walk and hadn’t invited company. He clearly wanted to be alone. Damen knew he had a good deal to think about. As did he. 

He was desperate for news of his Father, but it wouldn’t be available until he reached Ios. If all went well, he’d soon be on the way home to confront whatever he found, should it be news that his father was lost, or a struggle with Kastor for the throne. 

He believed Kastor would support him as the heir. Even after years of hearing Nik’s warnings, he continued to believe in his brother. 

Thinking of Nik he felt an unfamiliar uncertainty. He was everything he’d always been; passionate, loyal and brave, but with a new edge. He’d neglected Nik, blindly secure in his love and their bond. He had an urge to woo him once more, to reassure him that he was as indispensable to him as breath.

Then there was the dilemma of Auguste who had been thrust into his life and in a short week become friend and lover. There was something twining them together that felt uncanny and fateful. Two future kings meeting on the field of war and making an unlikely alliance, with a deep understanding between them. An understanding that could mean the future of their countries would be peaceful and prosperous out of the shadow of conflict. 

He returned from his thoughts to find Auguste striding up, undone by the wind, all bright tousled hair and eyes to match the sky. He wavered between renewing their agreements for a future alliance of countries and his personal need to enjoy the last of his time with Auguste. 

“Has anyone been along the road?”

“Not anyone I would think were Sylphie’s men. A few farmers and one fine carriage. As you can see there has been no large ship into port, although the fisherman are coming in for the day.” 

Auguste sat next to him, eyes narrowed against the lowering sun. “I’ve been thinking.”

Damen nodded. He thought it best to let Auguste talk out as much as he needed to.

“I’m sure you know enough of Veretian law to realize that if Sylphie’s existence were known my Father could lose the Crown. I can’t allow her to have what I think she wants, recognition and a place at court.”

Auguste leaned back on his arms, his serious tone belying his casual pose. “Then there is Gerard. His family is originally from Delfeur and I am trying to work out their connection. He’s been at court since he was seventeen and in my guard for several years. I never had reason to doubt him, let alone think he would be treasonous. Now I am thinking I knew nothing about him at all.”

“Then it’s reasonable to believe Gerard is part of her family.”

“Probably. His family is on the edges if the court, not influential or wealthy. His rise has been considered unusual. He quietly made his way into my circle of friends and served with distinction in skirmishes. It only made sense to include him in my guard by the time we fought at Sicyon.” 

“You couldn’t have known Auguste.” He knew Auguste’s perchance for unduly blaming himself and had an urge to stop him from it.

Auguste inclined his head in that graceful way he had, “Perhaps not. There is nothing I know about any exile of a member of his family. This must have been done outside usual channels.”

As it would be, Damen thought. Veretians so different than Akileons who acknowledged their bastards. 

“I’ve been thinking that for my father to take such a risk, to break our laws, that his connection to Sylphie’s mother must have been very powerful and difficult to deny. I have come to understand how one’s judgement can be lost under certain circumstances.” His voice roughened and he lowered his eyes. 

Damen knew he was speaking of what was between the two of them and how it had affected Auguste’s choices.

“You couldn’t have known that either, Auguste. You couldn’t have seen ahead to any of this.”

Auguste looked over, searching his face. Damen cursed himself for a coward, knowing he’d deflected the personal direction of Auguste’s confession. Before he could summon the right words, Auguste went in a new direction, “Do you trust your brother?”

“Nikandros has always pointed out that I shouldn’t. He believes Kastor feels unfairly looked over as the heir, all because he is a bastard. I have always argued that he is ultimately loyal though.”

“And now?”

“Let’s just say I am eager to return to Ios as soon as possible.” Then directly, “We may leave each other as soon as tomorrow. Much will divide us. I hope we will hold true to our alliance. I want our countries to be at peace.” 

“I will remain true to our pact. Know this though. I cannot let Gerard’s treason go unpunished and I will find a way to make certain Sylphie does not threaten my Father’s rule. The knowledge of this is something you will not use against me.” There was command in his voice and no little threat. This was the ruthless side of being a Prince and Damen understood. 

“It would not serve the interests of Akileos to upend the future rule of my friend.”

Auguste measured his response and seeming satisfied said, “As long as our desires are aligned.” With an undercurrent of irony.

Then making one of the quick shifts of mood and direction Damen was coming to know him by, he leaned forward and said softly but with intensity, “Is that what I am to you? A friend?”

Auguste regarded him with open desire, invitation warming his blue eyes. The charge growing between them, the one he’d been trying to avoid igniting, was making it hard to answer in words. He couldn’t look away, caught by his body’s sudden yearning to touch Auguste. An unexpected tenderness swept through him. 

Suddenly he was afraid to fall. With Nikandros this something more he was feeling had always simply been there. He had never made a choice. There was Nikandros and then there was everyone else. Here, now, with Auguste he was on the edge of being pulled under and he couldn’t see ahead to where they would emerge.

Without deciding he reached out to gently trace Auguste’s jaw. Auguste shut his eyes as if overcome only by this. When he opened them after long moments of leaning into Damen’s touch, they were alight with Auguste’s particularly potent seductiveness. And then it was his own breath that caught. 

Auguste pulled him into a kiss. A kiss of such carnal promise, all his hesitancies crumbled under the spell of Auguste’s lush mouth moving on his. 

“Here I go again forgetting my duty. I should be watching the road and the harbor.” Auguste said, full of teasing. 

Damen said, “We should…we will, but we can do this in between.”

“Do you mean only this? Just kissing Damen?” It was a challenge.

“We could try,” he said, his own competitiveness igniting.

Auguste pushed him down and stalked up his body like he was his prey. “Let’s try your suggestion. We will just kiss. In between.” 

With that Auguste found a position that had their roused cocks aligned and wrapped one leg around his hip. He lowered his mouth to within a breath of his said, “Let me know. If you change your mind about just kissing.”

Damen already had an answer, rocking upwards. One hand in Auguste’s hair and the other roaming across his hip . 

Auguste captured his wandering hand and brought it up to clasp it above his head. “No, Damen, just kissing. Mind your duties.”

He remembered this game Auguste was fond of. Playful sexual torture. He determined to win this particular bout with the Prince of Vere. 

Their kissing became a duel. Lush and slow. Tangled and desperate. Each restraining the urge to grind against the other, while their hard cocks nestled so close together Damen felt every twitch and pulse. 

The raw need to rut formed a rough plan. Instinctually, Damen gripped Auguste’s hair and used it to turn his head to the side, swirling his tongue into his ear. He felt Auguste’s cock immediately jerk in response as he gritted in protest, “You’re. Breaking. The rules.”

Damen said, “This counts as kissing.” 

With determination and no little triumph, Damen employed all the variations of ‘kissing' to that ear and discovered it set Auguste wild. “Ahh, ahh, stop, or I’ll…” he said, voice hoarse and desperate, trying to twist away. Damen used his superior strength to keep him just where he wanted him. Auguste’s body vibrated with the struggle between surrender and the unraveling thread of determination to dominate and win. 

“Did you want to change the game Auguste?” The truth was, he was on the edge of breaking himself. Although it registered through his haze of desire that this was a contest with no winners. 

Their eyes met in heated challenge. Auguste said, “You broke the rules. I win,” and crushing his mouth down on Damen’s, began rotating his hips with the skill of a Isthimian dancing boy. Damen’s response was a full bodied and enthusiastic.

 

The sound of a galloping horses invaded their sensual net. With a curse and a groan, Damen pushed up just as Auguste said, “Fuck,” and unwound from him. Breaking apart they cautiously maneuvered to view the road, and discovered a party of armed men riding in the direction of the town.

Damen said, “About twenty I’d say.” 

He turned to Auguste who was looking towards the harbor. “Just as our reinforcements have arrived.”

There it was, a magnificent caravel, much larger than the one they’d arrived in, cresting the horizon and flying the Veretian flag. 

“Her men may have been watching for a Veretian ship and be on the move to the harbor. Most certainly, they will be searching for us. We can’t go directly to the harbor which they will expect and they will have lookouts on the main road,” Damen said.

“Then we take the shore.” 

They untethered the horses and led them down to the sand before they mounted. There was just enough sun left to give them clear sight but disguise their approach when they reached the town at dusk.

Damen took the lead before Auguste could and as he rode by him he tossed back a taunt, “I won.”

“You cheated. You lost.” Auguste corrected.

Damen slid a glance back over his shoulder. “I know two of your weaknesses now.”

Auguste pulled up next to him and narrowed his eyes, “Do you?”

“Yes,” Damen looked away with a satisfied smile. 

“You are going to make me ask.”

“That kissing your ears can almost make you come.”

Auguste closed his eyes and emitted a low sound of frustration. 

“And you are afraid of cats.”

“I just don’t like them,” Auguste automatically deflected. Then a thought alighted his eyes and he smiled tantalizingly, “Actually I have three weaknesses.”

“Are you going to reveal the third?” Damen found himself very curious and his still half hard cock jumped to attention.

“If you haven’t worked that out, then you are trying not to.” Auguste said, and with an arrogant lift of his brow, he kicked his horse into a canter. 

Damen’s heart jolted at the implication. Two things were undeniable. He was already regretting ending his time with Auguste and he was damn stupid to have engaged in their kissing duel. As his cock scolded him, remaining roused and aching, Auguste twisted around and said, “Are you coming? Oh that’s right, you didn’t.” 

“Neither did you,” Damen said under his breath. With absolutely no sense of satisfaction.


	16. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reunion is here!
> 
>    
> NOTE: AT END OF CHAPTER

Nikandros’s patience, never his strong point, is about to snap. Laurent had sauntered through Paradiso as if he owned it and evaded his every question on the way to the inn. Now they were ensconced at a private corner table having obtained lodging and meals for all the men and themselves.

Laurent is still stalling.

Nik had been ready to ride out when he’d received the report that Laurent had disappeared into a brothel. Torn between following the trail to Damen and his concern that Clement would manipulate Laurent into a trap, he’d reluctantly gone to retrieve him. Only to find him fully in charge of the situation and apparently having discovered valuable information.

He is through indulging Laurent. His connection to Damen has become muddied while they dealt with their duties. Now, the need to find him is like an itch along his skin.

“Laurent, tell me what you think you know or I will be off.”

Laurent, his eyes still absurdly smudged in kohl, wearing the jeweled earrings with the scarf hiding his hair, asks, “Where are you off to?”

“To track Damen. And Auguste.”

“That should be a good trick in the dark.”

Actually, darkness only made it easier. It was quiet, there were less distractions.

“It is a good trick. Damen and I have always been able to find each other by feel. It’s something we discovered as children and we have been doing it ever since.”

Laurent’s aloof mask falls, “That’s very romantic. You can feel him near? Is it because you are in love? In some of the books I’ve read…”

Nikandros closes his eyes to feel the thrum of what always exists between Damen and he.

When Laurent quiets, Nik opens his eyes and replies, “Yes, I can feel him near so if you actually have something useful to tell me, get it out.

“Why didn’t you just tell me this? It would have saved us some time.”

“Because I wanted to be unencumbered. To do this well I need to be alone.”

“Very well. I have learned this. Gerard is the one who betrayed Auguste. He is working with the woman they call the island queen, to what ends I can only guess. They came into the brothel together. They had Auguste and Damen on the ship but they escaped, stealing a boat, rowing to shore and taking horses.”

“You learned this how?”

“Spy craft.”

_Spy craft_. “Your plan then?”

“I have two men watching the brothel for Gerard and the woman. They are to follow them and report back to me here. Some of the men are posted along the road into town and the harbor.”

“It’s a good enough plan Laurent. But if that is all I will be going.”

“I am coming with you. I can be quiet. You underestimated me once.”

Nikandros inwardly groans. Laurent has a point. And yet.

“I will be more successful alone. This has nothing to do with your abilities. I will bring them here yet tonight. Wait for the reports. You have a score to settle with this Gerard. And a plot to untangle.”

Unusual indecision flickers across Laurent’s face.

“I’m sorry for deviating from our plan but now you understand why. I did come back when I thought you were in trouble.”

Laurent glares at him.

“Which was my mistake. Clearly you were never in trouble.”

“I am going with you.” Laurent stands and adjusts his sword belt. “I want to see Auguste.” A note of vulnerability in his voice. Of course. Laurent misses his brother. How can he deny him the joy of reuniting with him?

“Xander will stay here to command while I am away. Give your men orders and meet me on the waterfront side.”

Nikandros leaves out the back entrance. A spectacular full moon is rising over the ocean, silvering the waves and casting a spell. Laurent joins him and waits quietly.

He allows his full yearning for Damen to emerge. Now he senses the strum of Damen seeking him in return. He is pulled as by an invisible string in the direction of the beach. Without thought he follows that string. Down the rough rock steps to the sand, weaving around the man sized boulders ranging to the left. Laurent, in fact so stealthy, he has to look around to see if he is following.

A thrill zings up his spine as he steps around the last in the series of boulders. A firm hand grabs his shoulder and he is caught unresisting and spun back against the rock. Then the familiar weight and feel of Damen against his body.

“Did you find me the usual way?” A whisper of laughter along his neck.

“Of course. It would have been sooner but things came up.”

“Things like Laurent?” It is Auguste, emerging from the shadows behind Damen.

“You have no idea. Well, you probably do.”

Laurent calls out, “Brother!” and then an uncharacteristic whoop of joy.

As the brothers embrace, Damen gives Nik a thorough kiss of greeting. It is fervent and affirming. The connection between them settles like sword to scabbard.

“How did you manage to find us?” Auguste asks. Damen gives Nik a private smile, then turns to answer. His arm remains loosely around his waist.

“Laurent disguised himself as a Pet and did some spying. In a brothel,” Nikandros says.

Closely followed by Laurent saying, “Nikandros can track Damen through love magic.”

Damen and Auguste take a moment to absorb this. The only sound the lull of the waves. Auguste says with wry amusement, “That sounds like a tale better told with some wine and food.”

“We have lodging here. And all the men that could be spared with us.” Nikandros reports.

“Well done,” Damen says. A warm, intimate stroke along his back in counterpoint to his words.

Nikandros looks to Laurent’s moonlit face, full of pride and suppressed excitement. He is happy for him. He has impressed the brother he clearly idolizes.

“Come Laurent, lead the way. I would hear of all your adventures,” Auguste says, clasping his brother’s shoulder. A smile of adorable mischievousness transforms Laurent’s face. “It has been quite exciting Auguste.”

Laurent leads the way and Auguste casts a glance back at Damen. It is a look of such unexpected intimacy and connection that Nikandros’s heart stutters. So. That is how it is.

As they walk together, Damens asks, “Xander and the men are here?”

“Yes, Xander and seven of our men.”

They return unobtrusively to the inn, greeting the guards and then take the back stairs to their rooms. They separate to get settled before meeting back up.

Once in their room, Damen strokes his hand along Nik’s hip, his eyes alight with interest. “You are dressed as a pirate.”

“Oh you like me this way?” Nik asks. He returns the interest in the sleek eyed provocative way he knows Damen finds irresistible.

In answer Damen runs his other hand through Nik’s loose hair. “I like you all ways but yes. You look impossibly attractive in tight trousers and boots.”

Nikandros tugs the sash of Damen’s tunic, “I’d like to see you in just this kilt. Later.” The desire between them is heady as strong wine.

“Come along, we have tales to share.” Teasing and fond, he pulls Damen towards the door, but Nik is captured willingly back into his embrace.

“Nik.”

“Yes?”

“I missed you.” Damen’s voice is rough and tender.

“Even with the beautiful Prince as your companion?”

“Even so.”

It is reassuring. The way Damen is regarding him with lust and love mingled in his eyes even more so. He hasn’t felt this intensity from Damen since before he’d been wounded. It was back, that something more. It hadn’t been just for the day at Marlas, the anomality he’s feared it might be. He’d been holding that fear, fenced around his heart. No more.

“This side trip has accomplished one thing. Neither of us are a hostage.”

“That has worked out. Tomorrow, we find a way back to Ios. The kidnappers are Veretian and we are not in their sights.” Damen says.

There is more to this Nik knows. It will wait.

They meet in an adjoining private common room with chairs around a small round table holding wine, shallow cups and a fine supper left by the inn keeper. The window shutters are open and the rhythm of the waves can be heard. Candles and moonlight illuminate the room.

Auguste and Laurent were already there, supping and celebrating. Auguste is different and accessible wearing island clothing. The grace of Auguste’s body revealed in that kilt is…well he didn’t hurt his eyes. He cannot ignore how Auguste’s eyes cling to Damen’s or how Damen responds with warm intimate acknowledgement.

Let them have this he thinks and turns his attention to Laurent. His scarf is off, his golden hair combed and gleaming. The jewels in his ears remain. His eyes are startling clear and bright in that incomparable face. Now that this was almost at an end, he feels an unexpected fondness. Laurent is incorrigible but precociously able. All the while dreaming of love and high adventure.

Laurent catches him looking, his eyes widen and then he gives him an unexpectedly sweet smile.

“I was just telling Auguste of my spycraft.”

“I haven’t heard the entire story. Start again?”

Laurent puts one leg up and balances an arm along it. “As you know, I was disguised as a Pet. Which meant I had to pretend to like that horrible Clement.” Here a moue of distaste. “We went to the quarter. It was more decadent than the Veretian court. I met the Madam of the Mounting Stallion and she gave me a tour of her brothel.”

A choked off sound of concern from Auguste.

“To spy Auguste. _Please_. While we were having refreshments, a woman pirate came in with Gerard. I talked one of the harlots into trading for these clothes and a sword, pretended to need the privy and heard Gerard and that woman telling the Madam of your escape.”

Looking down modestly, Laurent fights a pleased smile. Then he says, “The pirate woman’s name is Sylphie.”

“Yes, we met her on the ship. She and Gerard arranged our capture,” Auguste says coolly.

Damen adds, “Her men are searching the town for us. We need to be on alert tonight.”

Auguste says, “I had thought of leading a party to root out our captors but they will come to us. We will be ready.” There is a brief struggle in Auguste’s face and then it’s as if it was never there. “This is where our paths diverge. I know you must make your own plans.”

He stands and says, formally, firmly. “I am going to gather our men and set a trap. Laurent you are with me.” With that he strides from the room.

There is a weird moment of disorientation.

Nik reassures, “Laurent, if you want our help, you have only to ask.”

Damen rises, and with a concerned frown says, “Give me a moment. I am going to talk to Auguste.” Checking for agreement with Nik and receiving it, he leaves.

Laurent blinks and says softly, “I didn’t think this would end so suddenly.”

The intimacy of their few days together has forged an unlikely and prickly friendship. As Laurent goes to the door and looks back, Nik follows him and thinks to say something fitting.

They pause together in the doorway.

Laurent wavers towards him, his eyes dark, curious and wanting. NIk knows Laurent is attracted, infatuated. As well as he knows that romantic Laurent yearns for a love like the one he has for Damen.

Then Laurent says, “The best stories end with the heroes kissing.” There is such sweet longing in his lovely eyes.

“You are the hero of this story Laurent.” It would take just a lowering of his head to touch his lips to his.

Instead he puts his finger to those lips and says quietly, “Wait for that true love. It will be worth it.”

Laurent takes a trembling breath and turns his head to nuzzle into Nikandros’s hand. He whispers, “I don’t want to wait.”

Nikandros strokes the velvet white skin of his jaw. The tenderness he feels for Laurent is transferred to his touch. Laurent reacts with a low breathy moan. He hadn’t meant to take it further but Laurent is so responsive.

He begins to step back but Laurent catches his hand to hold their connection. He allows it. Of all things, he does not want Laurent to feel rejected or sullied in any way.

“You know I won’t be fourteen forever. If all goes as Damen and Auguste hope, I will visit Delfeur with him in the future.” Vexation in his tone.

“Then I will see you in Delpha.” He can’t resist that.

“Delfeur.”

“Be well Laurent. May we cross paths again.”

Laurent steps back slowly, holding his hand to the last. His eyes sparking with challenge. He says, “When we do, be assured you will be sorry you didn’t take advantage of this offer.”

“I do not doubt it Laurent.”

Nik goes to the open window and watches the waves, mesmerized, full of conflicting emotions. Damen will return having said his own goodbyes to Auguste. What has passed between them is no light thing. But tomorrow they are to Ios and the brothers of Vere to Arles. This interlude will become just another bright tale to be recalled at a feast or privately reminisced.

NOTE: I have been asked if this is the end of the story, and it isn’t. There will be several more chapters and then Part 2 or an Epilogue.

Due to the current virus situation, work closures and social distancing, updates should happen at around once a week.


	17. Redux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think we could all use an escape right now... so escape with me into a little piece of pre-CaPri, where our heroes live and love boldly as always. A little offering from my heart to all who follow this fic.
> 
> And if this chapter shamelessly features Nik’s tight and sometimes loose trousers, well, y’all know by now how it is!

***

“Come to say good bye?” Auguste turns slowly, face shadowed in the hallway.

“Yes, can I have a moment?”

Auguste leads him into the small tidy room Laurent and he will share. Damen leans into the doorway and a sense of finality settles in.

The center of his chest tightens. Auguste is so suddenly remote.

Circling back to the beginning he says, “I will not forget that you returned my life to me. As I will not forget you Auguste.”

“As if you could.” Auguste says with the lazy, charming smile he might give anyone. “And I will always be glad for the instinct that stayed my hand.”

Their eyes hold with the recognition of all that they have shared in their short time.

“We have had this interlude, a small sliver of time, perhaps destined for the future of our countries.” Auguste pauses, his voice lowering intimately and his eyes flaring, “And if we enjoyed it, then, all the better.”

With that, he assumes the mantle of Prince, playfulness stripped from his face.

It seems there should be more than this abrupt goodbye. Belatedly, Damen recalls that Auguste had given him that chance while they waited on the beach and he had sidestepped.  _I have come to understand how one’s judgement can be lost under certain circumstances_. Then later, the vulnerable question, “ _Is that what I am to you? A friend?”_

He hadn’t taken that doorway and now it was apparently closed. As it must be.

Laurent has come behind him. He moves aside, to allow him entrance. Laurent studies him as if he has the answer to a complex problem. One that he finds especially vexing.

He’d all but dismissed his presence previously, but clearly, despite his youth, he had done well. He addresses him. “Laurent. Thank you for allowing Nikandros to accompany you and for coming to our aid.”

Laurent’s expression shifts, polite but with a secret satisfaction, “It has been my pleasure.” He pulls a satchel from under his bed. Retrieving a coin purse he tosses it to Damen. “Tell Nikandros this is from me. To hire a ship for your return to Ios.”

Damen opens it into his hand, a spill of gold. “You needn’t. We will find a way.” He checks for Auguste’s reaction.

“Take it. You would not be caught in this if not for my mistakes.” Auguste says. Then with gentle finality, “Secure your kingdom and I will do the same for Vere. May the next time we meet be in peace.”

***

Slipping back into their room, Damen finds Nik with arms braced on the window, watching the night. As he turns moonlight silvers his hair from behind, while the candlelight casts his face and body in soft gold. Damen receives that heartbreakingly tender smile he keeps for him alone. Even after his careless neglect, Nikandros is steadfast and welcomes him as always.

“Laurent sent you a gift,” He shows him the coins. “For our passage home.”

Nik says, “Ah, Laurent,” He looks back out to the sea and night, with a musing expression.

“Have you made an ally?” Damen asks.

“Yes, and a good and fair one at that. Perhaps someday you will have the pleasure of knowing him yourself.”

“Was it a pleasure?” he asks surprised.

“When I was not wanting to toss him overboard.” An altogether fond smile crosses his face.

It has been but days since their time together in Marlas, the interlude that opened his eyes to the schism he had allowed between them. He no longer cares what happened in between, of Auguste or Laurent or the fate of kingdoms. He cares only for his eremenos and retracing his missteps.

The time for speaking is over. Or of thinking of anyone else. Nik reads his mood as always and moves to him as naturally as the tide follows the moon. Damen gently enfolds him in his arms, softly saying, “I’m sorry.”

Nik pulls back enough to meet his eyes, questioning.

“That I was careless with you, with your heart.” His regret is sharp in his chest.

Nik holds his gaze, searching deeply. His brave Nik doesn’t flinch and says, “I should never have accepted it." Then firmly, “I won’t again.”

Damen tightens his arms around him, “I have come to understand that too.”

He says it again, head bent, words whispered into the veil of Nik’s hair, “I’m sorry Nikandros. It was unworthy of you.”

“You are forgiven.” The words a balm but it is not enough. The urge to woo, to even worship comes over him.

He unties the sash Nik wears and slides his hands under his loose shirt, pulling it off and away. Slowly, he glides his hands over the dark smooth skin of his chest, along the wings of his collarbones, his touch light and reverent. Once more, he receives that tender smile, and he knows Nik understands. He is making amends now in another way.

He admires the symmetry of Nik’s face, the fine straight nose, the seductive slant of his green gold eyes, all framed by abundant hair of deepest black. His beauty captures him anew. There are mysteries here and he knows he has not plumbed the depths of their connection.

Words cease and everything is said with eyes and touch and things he cannot name but knows. The night has set an enchantment he will not test.

Clothing is discarded in a slow unwinding interspersed with intervals of kissing. Every caress, every meeting of their eyes, the first soft sounds of their pleasure builds a world apart.

Nik opens, and opens, his body pliant, his response sweet and yielding. No kiss is deep enough. They touch not to arouse but to find a way through the boundaries of skin and bone.

So it was when they vowed themselves to each other in the grove, young and untried. The visitation of the god came, a palpable presence, golden and shimmering. All who made the sacred vows wished for such a thing, but it came to few.

It is here again, as if the vows they made are being made anew.

The pleasure of their joining is manifold, beyond the usual heat and need or even love. The last vestiges of separation between them dissolve and they are suspended in timeless, unending bliss.

“Damen! Damen!” Nik’s’s voice is rapturous, his face gorgeous in ecstasy.

He cannot answer, beyond words. They are not building to release. They are being consumed, one by the other and something more. All is golden, all is Nikandros, the unutterable essence of what beats his heart. He knows no more as unspeakable pleasure renders them.

Slowly, he comes back to himself. Nikandros is panting above him, his face stunned, saturated. “Eremenos.” His voice is thick, almost drugged. Sleep pulls them under.

***

The familiar sound of battle awakens them at first light. The clash of swords, Auguste’s sharp commands above it all. There is pandemonium downstairs and outside.

Damen has the kilt wrapped and pinned while he watches Nik struggle with those damn trousers. He comes to his aid. Nik looks up, the vestiges of last night soft in his eyes.

Damen says, “Eremenos, are you well this morning?”

Nik’s smile is almost shy but bright and full. “You know I am.”

What was broken between them has been mended and remade.

They are out the door, swords at the ready. They meet Xander and the men in the hallway, ready for action.

Damen says, “Follow me,” and they are swiftly out into the melee.

Immediately, they are engaged. Damen charging and slashing toward Auguste who is under assault from two swordsmen. Nik beside him, guarding his left.

The first rays of dawn gives poor light, the mist rolling off the ocean not yet burned off. The clatter of hooves on cobblestone and the whinny of a startled horse are heard before a rider emerges from the fog to engage a slender fighter.

Damen recognizes Laurent and he is under siege. He sees the trap. They have come for Laurent. The island fighters fall back cutting Laurent off from their own men.

Auguste sees it also, too late, and his cry of “Laurent! To the Prince!” comes just as Laurent is surrounded, whirling to engage the new threat. The rider above strikes his head with the pommel of his sword. He staggers and falls. Auguste’s bellow of rage cuts through the clamor.

Laurent is lifted up and thrown across the horse, senseless, and the rider is off, swallowed by the mist. The Veretians pursue, running, but during the final skirmish the island fighters manage to mount and retreat.

Auguste’s voice is thunderous, “Pursue!

“To me!” Damen’s battle voice rings out to the Akielons.

Auguste catches a loose horse and mounts, ready to ride off alone.

Then around the edge of the building emerges a woman on a gray horse. “Wait.” Her voice carries, used to command. “He will not be harmed. He is only for assurance. You can pursue but you are outnumbered. ” Sylphie.

Auguste wheels his horse over to her and pulls her across her horse by the shirt with barely restrained rage, “Get off the horse before I throw you from it.”

“No need to be rough brother.” He shoves her back. She dismounts unhurriedly, gracefully, as though arriving to an afternoon picnic. Auguste says to a nearby soldier, “Daniel, take her.”

Daniel clasps her arms behind her in a rough hold.

“You have harmed my brother!” Auguste dismounts and is right in her face, restrained violence in every line of his body.

“Some. Just enough to subdue him.” She has the audacity to shrug one shoulder and Daniel tightens his grip until she gasps.

Auguste shudders, it appears with the need to restrain himself from laying hands on her .

Damen, with Nikandros at his side, crosses the courtyard to Auguste. He turns, his face etched in ferocity.

Damen gestures discreetly, making Auguste aware of the innkeeper peering out the doorway and the curious, early awakened townspeople coming out. He says in a low voice, “Let us do this away from prying eyes. These people know her and not us. We do not need an insurrection on our hands.”

Auguste gives a sharp nod and Daniel releases her.

Damen steps in, knowing Auguste is nearly out of control. “Hello Sylphie. Shall we retire within?” He offers her his arm.

Sylphie smiles and takes it, “How civilized of you Daminaos.”

As he moves to guide her inside, she resists a moment to say, “I like your trousers, green eyes.”

Gods. Nik’s trousers are near undone and revealing much. He looks down and yanks them up with a careless shift of his shoulders .

At her husky laugh, Damen yanks her arm none too gently. Auguste gather himself and gives short, precise orders to Daniel.

Damen hears Nikandros giving orders behind him. “Arrange watch with the Veretians. We will be within, but I expect we will have a direction soon.”

With that, they are up the stairs and into the room they met in last night. Sylphie takes a chair and crosses one long leg along the other. Damen stands by the window, watching for any developments and Nikandros joins him.

Auguste charges in, his voice harsh, “Give your terms.”

“Right to it then? Very well. At first I wanted for you to consider my plight. The plight of a royal child, cast off and exiled. I hoped that you might consider changing the laws that keep me so once you ascend to the throne.”

“Now?”

“I want to return with you to Arles. To state my case to my Father myself.” Sylphie drapes one arm over the back of the chair and stares him down.

“While you keep Laurent as ‘assurance’.”

“That is it exactly.” She tilts her head and smiles insolently.

_This is a neat trap._

“Do you think my Father will have favor on you? Hearing you have kidnapped his sons? Colluded with Gerard in treason?” Auguste curls his lip, sneering. 

“I will take that chance.” Damen will give her this, she is not without courage or a will to match Auguste’s. 

“Why? Here you are Queen. Do you not realize the risk you bring to The King, my Father’s reign?”

“You can arrange all this discreetly. I have no wish to bring down the King, _my Father’s_ rule. But I would like to meet him. Even if it is just the once.”

“Once, and you are in our dungeons for treason.”

“And if I am, our brother remains here.”

An involuntary grunt of frustration from Nik draws her attention his way. She slides her eyes down Nik’s body and pouts with disappointment, presumably to see his trousers laced, “Who are you then? The consort of the prince?”

Nikandros gives her his most beguiling smile, the one that usually melts reservations and disperses with clothing. But no answer.

Auguste’s man, Daniel has been stationed outside the door and Auguste gives him curt orders. “Go with my man. You will be sequestered elsewhere and await my pleasure.”

Sylphie stands, slowly, indolently and leaves as ordered, assured of having made an impression.

Auguste says, “I am sorry to have dragged you once more into this, Damen.”

“As we are sorry to leave you at this juncture, but we must.”

With that, they take their leave, retrieve their few possessions and gather the men. Damen informs them, “It is time to find transport back to Ios. To the docks.” Xander replies, "We are ready Exalted.”

As they walk away from the inn, Nikandros says quietly, “We aren’t even going to consider helping the Veretians?”

Damen smiles, “I have not said that.”

“If I know Laurent, he will have them sorry they have ever captured him.”

“Really?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Damen is intrigued. He would know more. Later. Apparently there is much more to Laurent than the petulant youth he gauged him to be.

“Sylphie. She is quite a bold and beautiful woman, and bastard royalty.” Nik observes.

“She is that. And you seem to have caught her interest, green eyes,” he teases, watching Nikandros stalk along the road, in that way he has. “You and your damn tight trousers.” And if there is a bit more swagger in Nik’s walk as he moves ahead and sends back a _take a good look_ grin, well, Damen cannot help being pleased that he is the man to have put it there.


	18. The Bargain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return of Ancel onto the scene; in which Laurent and Ancel take each other’s measure and a bargain is made. .

Laurent’s awareness rises slowly from a deep blankness. A dull pain throbbing in his head draws his attention and by contrast the rest of him feels detached and vacant. A startled breath jolts through his chest, his pulse pounding as he emerges from the void.

He registers sounds, then recognizes them as words.

“Oh, you’re finally awake,” a bored voice says. Laurent slits his eyes open and with effort connects the voice to a person. It is the red haired boy from the brothel, legs kicked up on the end of the bed, holding something shimmering to the light. One of the diamond earrings, that at last remembrance, had been adorning his own ears. His name eludes him for a moment and then it is there. _Ancel_.

He moves sluggishly, ignoring the stab of pain in the crown of his head. Exploring that throbbing area he discovers some sort of bandage. A hand to his side confirms that, disappointingly, he is not wearing his sword.

He takes inventory of his surroundings. He is on a simple bed in a vaulted room with narrow, ceiling high windows and whitewashed walls. The only sound is the lull of the surf. Seeing a wash room to his left, he carefully swings his legs down and stands. Yes, he is rather dizzy but with a determined effort he rights himself. “I will be in there if you don’t mind.”

The boy shrugs, “Go ahead. I will tell the guards to bring you some food and drink. I’m supposed to keep you alive.” He springs up and over to the door, to speak to the men on the other side.

_How reassuring. His life matters._

In the relative privacy of the washroom, he feels under the bandage and finds dried blood. Carefully he removes it. He has a good sized bump on his head and a gash that seems to have stopped bleeding. He carefully cleans some of the dried blood from his hair. There is an inconvenient catch in his throat as he imagines Auguste teasing him for his inclination to be as clean and groomed as a cat.

More comes back to him; an ambush in the fog, then being surrounded and cut off from the others. Hearing Auguste shouting his name right before he fell.

He hates the necessity of needing to question the snide little piece outside, but he’ll have to get around to it. He returns and sits casually on the bed, across from Ancel, who is now wearing the earrings, those cunning green eyes challenging him to reclaim them.

“They look good on you,” he says.

“Don’t try to make friends with me. It won’t work,” Ancel says bitingly.

Oh, but something will. Laurent is sure of that. He remembers that this boy yearns for life on the mainland. Unsurprisingly, he also covets pretty things like the earrings. On first encounter he had judged Ancel to be greedy and completely without scruples. That remains true and is all to his own advantage.

“You aren’t Clement’s Pet. You are Laurent the Prince of Vere,” Ancel says, honeyed malice in his voice.

“How clever of you. You have caught me out.” Laurent replies. Falling back on his sarcastic sneer, he finds it eludes him. His throat is rough and parched. Nausea rises up every time he tries to swallow.

Despite the sound of his own voice spiking the pain in his head, Laurent tries for a friendlier approach. “You’re right of course, I’m not a Pet, but you would do well as one.”

“I knew you would try and trick me. Tell me flattering things. That’s how you did it the first time.” His pretty pink lips twist. “I followed you to that inn because I knew you were lying. Then I told Sylphie and Gerard. These earrings are my reward.” Triumph flares in his bone white face.

This information is a blow. He led the kidnappers right to everyone. His estimation of his own adeptness plummets. He had been so proud of rescuing Auguste, but he had proved himself as untried and unready as Nikandros summated. He had been playing at spy craft while this boy of the streets had long survived off his wits.

“Is Sylphie here?” _Asking where am I and what are you doing with me was too obvious._

“No, she is not. She is going to Vere with your brother. _Auguste_ ,” Ancel finishes, with purposeful lack of deference. He continues with a taunting laugh. “You thought I was so stupid and yourself so clever.”

If Sylphie is on her way to Vere with Auguste, then he himself is a hostage to assure her safe passage. All he has accomplished is to reverse the situation. What she has done is a reckless gambit and he cannot see her end game.

“Why are you here then rather than on your way to Vere? Unless, you are completely happy in Paradiso.”

Ancel refuses to be baited. At the knock on the door, he flounces off to receive the food that has arrived. He places the tray of fruit, bread and cheese on the bed, deftly adding a carafe of water alongside. Laurent takes a sip of water first. Food feels a bit dangerous to his stomach presently.

“I know something too. I know who Sylphie is. But I can’t imagine my father will be pleased by her actions. Or welcome her into the family.”

“She was willing to risk it. That’s how Sylphie is. She’s brave and bold.” Ancel helps himself to a plum and takes a large bite, wiping the juice from his lips with the back of his hand.

“How have you become attached to her? And obviously trusted?” Laurent tries a morsel of bread, swallowing carefully.

“I’ve known her as long as I can remember. I was born into her household.” Ancel sucks on the soft flesh of the plum, with a soft moan of enjoyment, his eyes closing in pleasure.

No doubt the he is the by blow of a whore, Laurent thinks. With tricks that would be appreciated at court, although he finds them blatant and distasteful.

“Tell me more about Sylphie. I would know more about my sister,” he says, his face held in the polite interest he’s cultivated for court.

“I will tell you more if you tell me about the Veretian court.” Ah ha. Here is Ancel’s soft underbelly. He cannot disguise his voracity.

Laurent launches into a description of Arles and the court. He winds his way around to discussing the Pet system, dropping little tidbits that imply how successful Ancel could be. Ancel sits forward, his usually calculating gaze becoming softer, even young, like a child hearing a minstrels fantastical tale.

“Do you have a Pet?” Ancel bites his lip as if he regrets the question, revealing more than he wished.

“Not yet,” Laurent replies smoothly. The bargain dangles between them.

They stare at each other for a moment, neither willing to break first. Finally, Ancel stands, still holding Laurent's eyes while he pets an earring with unconscious delectation.

“Well, I must be going, now that you are taken care of. I will tell you about Sylphie later.”

“Time to go to work at the Mounting Stallion? Tell Minette I send my regards.” Laurent cannot help sniping.

“Not Clement?” Ancel prods back.

“I will leave him to you.”

“You wouldn’t know what to do with him. I can tell you’ve never had a man between your thighs.” With that Ancel saunters out of the room. Laurent cannot help but admire someone who is as adroit with his bon mots as he.

He is glad of the quiet. His head aches and he is exceedingly tired. The little cat and mouse game with Ancel has taken a toll. He relaxes out on the bed with a sigh, deciding that closing his eyes for a while will restore him.

***

It’s disconcerting to awaken with the animal sense of being watched. The light is low, he has slept long and late. It takes a moment to orient himself. Ancel is standing along the wall, arms crossed. “I want to negotiate,” he says. Laurent appreciates his lack of preamble.

He sits up carefully and is pleased to feel no vertigo or light headedness. He answers, “Give me your offer.” He finds a cup and drinks, eyes remaining on Ancel.

“I want to got to Arles. To the court. I want to be a Pet.” Ancel says baldly.

“I meant it when I said you’d do well there. With a little polishing.”

“I know I will do well,” Ancel says tartly, “but I need a sponsor and that will be you. You will tell everyone I am your Pet.”

“Perhaps even better, would be if I introduced as the man who helped me escape. Being a hero, you would be greatly celebrated and incite a bidding war among the finest patrons.”

Ancel’s eyes glitter with excitement. Laurent speaks the truth. Name Ancel a hero and put him in silks and jewels and he will capture the interest of every man of style.

“What guarantee do I have that you will keep your word?”

An interesting demand from Ancel who is quick to change sides, to betray Sylphie, whom he declares to admire. But he will not point that out.

“The word of the Prince of Vere.” Laurent says, with a snap of his chin.

Ancel hesitates, one leg moving restlessly until he clamps a fine boned hand down to still it. Laurent realizes he’ll have to do better than invoking his stuffy honor as a Prince.

“It isn’t easy for you to believe me. On Paradiso, it is every man for himself. It’s not much different in the Veretian court. Everyone is trying to use each other.”

“So, we are both accustomed to being used,” Ancel summarizes. He looks skeptical, indulgent even.

Oh, of course. He has never been used as Ancel is speaking of. He has never even been kissed, while Ancel has worked the quarter, for how long? Seeing the comprehension on his face, Ancel gives him a look brimming with both bitterness and bravado.

Laurent feels a little sick and unsure of how to proceed.

Ancel, however, does. He throws Laurent a sideways, superior glance, while he adjusts his clothing. He opens his laced shirt, shakes back his tumble of gold red hair and arches his body to advantage. “I am going to distract the guards. While I have them occupied, you will sneak out. Wait long enough for me to entertain them. Take the first right and you will find the servants entrance down that hallway. I already have horses hidden but you will need me to find them. Wait for me along the south side of the building and try not to get caught.”

Laurent bristles at the rebuke but only inclines his head in agreement. He could ask where they will be going but it doesn’t matter. Escape is what does. All he needs is a horse and a chance.

He thinks ahead. Auguste will not have sailed off without him. He will have commandeered Clement’s ship and crew and be planning a rescue, probably tonight. If he can get to them before then, he will save them the trouble. He likes his odds of outriding Ancel once he has guided him in the right direction.

He stands near the door, listening. Quietly he opens it and hears the sounds of sexual pleasure. Sidling along the wall, he nears the room the sounds are coming from. He waits and when he hears the curses and groans escalate, he presses against the opposite wall and moves slowly past. Ancel is kneeling, servicing one guard with his mouth and another with his hand.

Averting his eyes, Laurent keeps moving, looking for that first right. Finding a darker and narrower passage, he lightly steps down it to the door at the end. Looking back to assure himself he has disturbed no others, he carefully opens the door. Here, there is a sandy path and the surge of the surf is loud. He takes welcome breaths of fresh sea air and lets his racing heart settle.

He doesn’t want to make another misstep. He considers the likelihood he can find the horses and his way to Auguste alone but decides there is no disadvantage to having Ancel’s superior knowledge of the island. Except for his annoying presence and galling presumption. He looks for a place to hide and wait.

It is not long before Ancel exits the building and gives a low whistle. Laurent emerges from hiding at the signal.

“Quick work.” Laurent says and then regrets it as unworthy.

“I know my business,” Ancel answers as he pushes past Laurent and leads him down an almost hidden path. At the end, two tacked horses await. In accord they untie the horses and mount.

“If you think to outride me, think again. I grew up in these stables and can ride a horse as well as I ride a man.” Ancel’s face is cast golden by the setting sun and his mouth is swollen and red from his exertions. He says it proudly, proclaiming _if I am a whore then know I am a very good one._

Laurent cannot sort out his grudging admiration from his revulsion and an unexpected wave of pity.

“It never crossed my mind,” Laurent lies, as he gathers the reins and knees his horse onto the road with a flourish. Ancel shows what he is made of as he maneuvers to cut him off and almost succeeds. With that, their eyes meet in mutual antipathy and jockeying for position they set off at a gallop along the road to Paradiso.

Laurent’s mount is swift and responsive and as he pulls ahead he lets the wind take his words, “Do try to keep up!”


	19. Two Penny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t want to give away much about this chapter. Until I wrote it, even I didn’t know what would happen! (I have learned this makes me a “pantser” as in writing by the seat of my pants...) I hope you will enjoy this chapter filled with ribaldry, requited love and drama.

After the skirmish, Nik, Damen and the men go to the Quarter to break their fast and find passage back to Ios. The men gather at a common table, tossing quips between them in the way of men after battle. Their exuberance awakens the quarters doxies, who stroll out, early from their beds and tousled with sleep. They prowl around the men making lewd, inventive offers, adding to the general air of celebration. Damen, quickly learns their names and asks their advice regarding an honest captain that sails to Ios, slipping them coins in gratitude.

While the men indulge in their exaggerated recounting of the morning’s brief battle, Nik remains quietly in thrall to memories of the night before. His body still purrs with satisfaction and he is acutely, almost embarrassingly aware of Damen’s presence beside him. It would take only Damen’s leg pressing familiarly along his own, or that particular rough tender tone Damen uses in bed, to ignite him.

He senses Damen’s attention tracing his movements as well and chances a look his way. He receives a gaze of such potent allure that his breath comes short and he must look away, or court losing his fragile composure. In Damen’s face he has found assurance he is not alone in his passionate reverie.

It feels like early times. The times when Damen and he had seen the night through to the dawn, prowling the city in disguise, slipping into an alley to kiss and tease. One of them eventually pulling the other along into a tavern to drink strong wine and gamble at bones with the wily men of the street. Damen cheating and never getting caught, while his dark eyes promised Nik, _soon I will have you_. Taking a room above the tavern and tumbling each other at first light.

Zander intrudes upon his pleasant reverie, leaning over to bluntly remark, “You’re looking well fucked.” Nik shoulders him away with a warning growl and Zander jostles him back in the manner of when they were boys. Leave it to Zander sniff out a well fucked man.

Damen says, “Something on your mind, Zander?”

“I was just telling Nik he looks especially well rested this morning,” Zander answers with feigned innocence, reaching for his shallow cup of wine and hiding a grin behind a swallow.

“Is that how he looks? Rested?” Damen asks, in that exact rough tender tone, while his hand slides up Nik’s inner thigh. Nik responds with a rush of warmth low in his body and his cock kicks to attention, immediately protesting it’s confinement in those damn trousers. Inwardly, he curses them and vows to find something more comfortable and less revealing soon.

He tries discreetly adjusting himself under Zander’s amused watch. Zander gives Damen an impressed look, “And yet, you still have him as taut as a bowstring.” Nik searches for a clever rejoinder, but between arousal and embarrassment, he can only groan.

Zander, being his true friend, sobers and says pointedly to Damen, “It’s about time.” “It is,” Damen agrees and at the smile he gives him, Nik’s chest blooms with an almost painful joy.

Zander’s attention swings away as a woman with sloe eyes and night skin insinuates herself into his lap. He toys with her wild curly hair while regarding her with lazy interest. Nik takes his opportunity. “You’ve chosen poorly darling, he’ll only disappoint you.”

“Who would satisfy me then? Who has the biggest weapon here?” she asks, lounging against Zander in a way that has Nik wondering when exactly the two had become acquainted.

The elfin scamp who had announced himself earlier in a comically courtly manner and is now bringing their food, chortles, “Try each of them Salome and judge for yourself!” He finishes serving everyone and claps his hands saying, “Two pennies on your handsome man, Salome!”

Salome accepts the challenge and after groping Zander thoroughly, she makes the rounds of men until she arrive at Damen and Nik. Putting her hands on her hips she says, “I have been looking forward to the two of you.”

Nik blurts, “I will vouch he is the winner.” Salome’s face is a study in avid curiosity. “Have you ridden every man here and found the biggest stallion?”

The men jeer and several yell out invitations for Nik to try them; for the first time, or in a few cases, for an encore. Damen narrows his eyes and says, “I see you have not been without consolation.”

Hearing the competitive edge in his voice and the sliver of jealousy, Nik’s urge to openly claim Damen is fierce and sudden. He grips Damen’s shirt and pulls him almost close enough to kiss. “True, but none could match you,” he murmurs, breathing him in and losing himself in his eyes. “Oh I know that,” Damen growls, “But should you need a reminder,” and then his mouth is taken in a kiss that wipes everything else from his awareness.

Emerging from the kiss, a little dazed, Nik finds Salome has sauntered back to Zander. Winding her arms around his shoulders and cradling his head in her bosom she declares, “The winner.” Zander takes up his wine and lifts it in toast to the others, “To smaller men and the lovers they disappoint.” Naturally, the men protest with derisive laughter and loud declarations regarding their manly prowess.

Damen says, “How good it is to see them like this.”

“Yes,” Nik says. He cannot risk saying more, the goodness of this moment threatening to overwhelm him. He will never understand how he can remain fearless in the deadliest situations, but in love, his emotions are so untamed.

The loss at Marlas and the worries for the kingdom seem far away, but Nik is sure Damen has not lost sight of it. He is a leader who senses the time for letting loose and then for tightening the reins of command.

By the end of their meal the sun has burned off the mist and the sky is bright and cloudless. They have the name of a captain the ladies agree is as honest a man as can to be found in Paradiso. Salome, offers to make introductions for the goodwill token of a silver coin. She crooks her finger and a nimble boy with thick curls is sent to fetch him.

When he arrives, Damen stands to greet him, with a look Nik knows to follow. Damen leads the way to a private spot. The captain is young, clean faced and clearly Akielon. He introduces himself as Christos.

Damen does not return the courtesy. “We are looking for passage home to Ios. We can pay well.”

Christos nods, looking them over with interest, clearly taking their measure as they take his. That he does not eagerly leap at the offer of coin is in his favor. On close inspection, he is indeed young to captain his own vessel, yet Nik notes a confidence and steadiness often found in the best of soldiers.

“Presently I’m unloading freight and later we will be loading our return cargo. My men need shore leave tonight but we return to Ios tomorrow if the weather holds. May I ask your business there?”

“You may, but first I have questions. Where is your home and what is your business?” Damen asks.

If Christos is affronted he doesn’t show it. “My family is from Ellium, the capital state. I sail in and out of Ios and trade in spices and foods that are exchanged between the islands and the mainland.”

_He has been to Ios_. “Have you news from the capital?” Nik interjects.

“Yes. There is dire news. Our army was defeated at Marlas and has returned to the capital with only Prince Kastor. Prince Damianos is a hostage of the damn Veretians and there is gossip that the King’s ship was lost at sea after the battle.” Well, his loyalties lie in the right place.

“We are soldiers cast upon these shores following that battle at Marlas,” Damen says.

Now Christos has his own questions. “You fought with the King?”

“Yes,” Damen says. “We were captured by Veretians but escaped. We believe another of our ships was swept out to the islands during the storm that occurred after the battle. Do you have knowledge of any such ship?”

“You are looking for the King’s ship!” Christos says with a mixture of excitement and awe. Then composing himself he answers, “I have heard nothing since we made port last night, neither at the harbor nor in the Quarter.” He continues thoughtfully, “But there are several smaller islands that have no settlements and are rarely visited even by fisherman. It’s possible a ship could be grounded on one of them.”

“We are looking for a discreet partner in taking up the search before we leave. We wouldn’t want to leave any comrades behind,” Damen says, in that confiding way he has of making a man his, willing to thank him for the honor of following him.

Christos nods, clearly taken in. “I have another vessel, large enough to maneuver around the calmer waters of the islands. King Theomedes granted my Father the commission to trade and sail these waters. Our family owes him our livelihood.”

“This must all be done discreetly. You are a loyal Akileon, but what of your crew?”

“We are all loyal to the King. It would be our honor to help.”

“Good,” Damen says giving Christos the approving and charming smile that always dazzles. Damen, needs to dampen his damn royal charisma, Nik thinks, or Christos will be making associations we don’t need.

Christos asks Damen, a hair away from breathlessly, “Did you command at Marlas?”

Damen gestures to Nik and says, “Not I, but he did. I am Damen and this is Nik.” A little late for subterfuge, Nik thinks, and to playing their game of Nik pretending to be the leader and Damen his man.

Christos turns his gaze from the bright light of Damianos and seems, just now, to have noticed Nikandros exists. “You commanded?”

Nik shoots Damen an irritated look before answering. “Just a phyla, but yes.”

Christos regards him with sudden interest. “The cavalry! Tell me of the battle. How were we defeated? Was it usual Veretian trickery?” Nik discreetly kicks Damen’s foot as Christos rambles on with more questions.

“Don’t you need to give the men orders before we leave Nik? Or did you wish for me to do it?” Damen asks, all sly innocence.

“No, I will see to it. Then I will meet you at the docks.”

He returns to the men and pulls Zander aside. “Damianos and I are going in search of the King’s ship. We will be onboard the ship of Christos of Ellium. Tomorrow he will return us all to Ios.” Then with sudden inspiration he speaks to the men, “Damianos and I will be back this evening at the latest. Two Penny has command.”

The men take it up immediately, “Two Penny! That’s all you are worth!” Then one wit says “Two Penny Cock” and it quickly becomes the favorite Nik knows Zander will hear until he prays his ears go deaf .

Zander shakes his head and grins ruefully, “You have your revenge and I will never be free of it.” Then, with the steadfastness he is best known by, “Fair voyage and a successful search.”

Nikandros returns to the docks to find Damen looking both eager and pensive. “Are we ready for departure?” he asks. Damen nods solemnly. “I know he is out there. If he were dead I would feel it.”

Nikandros wants to believe, for the sake of the kingdom and for the affection and loyalty he has for King Theomedes. Over weaning that is a fierce protectiveness of Damen. This day could end in his joy or devastation.

His attention is oddly caught by the gulls wheeling and crying above, reminding him of other times he has witnessed birds circling thusly. Vultures gracefully spiraling above the carnage of battle. Crows startled from the canopy by a boar’s last desperate stand at the hunt. He shakes off his sense of ill boding.

He puts his hands on Damen’s shoulders and then slides one hand up his nape, tenderness in his touch and assurance in his gaze for his eremenos. Whether Damen ends the day orphaned and a King or a son celebrating reunion with his beloved father, he will be there, protecting his left side as always.

They sail through the morning into mid-afternoon, Damen pacing the deck, shielding his eyes as he strains for sight of the royal Akileon ship. Nik can only watch and wait. He knows Damen in this mood and it isn’t one that welcomes even his company.

It begins to cloud. Christos watches the skies and finally says, “We must return. The weather changes.” Damen nods, disappointment and the first shadows of grief etching his face. Christos gives the signal; the crew reverses the sail and they come about.

In the moment before the sails fill, Nik’s ears prick at a faint sound; cadenced, familiar and then unmistakable. It is the beat of a drum counting out the rhythm of one hundred men at oars. Together they turn to locate the source. The sounds come more distinctly and they hold their breath in abeyance, until a ship rounds the edge of the furthest island. One towering sail rises magnificently above a long bodied vessel with three levels of rowers in perfect coordination. It is the Kings battle galley, the famed and feared _Sea Eater_.

“He lives, Nik! My Father lives!” Damen whoops, leaping like a boy into his arms. Nik catches him and joins Damen in the cry, “The King! The King!”


	20. En Famille

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auguste has a no good terrible day. The night, however, is looking up, because you can only be good for so long.
> 
>    
> Notes: At End of Chapter

Auguste places himself across from Sylphie, scourging her with a single pointed stare. He is usually the master of his emotions but that has changed. The rage that urges him to violence and blurs his thoughts is akin to nothing he recalls.

She matches him, refusing to drop her eyes. If she is afraid, he cannot see it. All the while, he studies that face; that uncanny version of his Father’s, and he debates killing her. How much simpler if she didn’t exist.

Her gaze drifts to his sword, then back to him. There, is that reckless glitter again. “If I were you,” she says, “I would do it,” 

A shudder claws up his back at her words. He shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw against the murderous urge that besets him.

“I should. If you have seriously harmed Laurent you will wish you were dead.” His own voice sounds coarse and foreign, as if a different Auguste has taken residence.

“He’ll have a headache, no more. The man I set upon him is a professional.” Said with a seemingly honest attempt at reassurance.

Auguste taps the hilt of his sword restlessly, considering. “A professional.”

“Yes,” she says, without elaboration, shrugging one shoulder carelessly.

He is not exactly reassured, but he image of Laurent surrounded, cut off and falling, ceases repeating in his mind. The blood lust cools enough that he can remember who he is and what he is not.

Sylphie yawns and says, “I was up early, setting an ambush and didn’t break my fast. If you aren’t going to kill me could you give me something to eat? I’m near perishing of hunger.”

He sincerely considers how it is that she has lived this long. “You are so…”

“Inconveniently alive? Not my fault. Look to our Father for that honor.”

“And your mother,” he says.

“Oh, well that. Yes. It’s a rather romantic story up until the point where she is with child and our grandmother secretly arranges her exile.”

Auguste is drawn in despite himself. He detests giving in, asking to know more but he has to admit; Sylphie is a formidable and persitent opponent. Her ability to find and press upon another’s vulnerabilities reminds him of his Father.

“If you aren’t going to kill me or feed me, then at least allow me to entertain you. By the way, when do we depart for Arles?”

“Are you trying to incite me to fratricide?”

“Still my heart. Have you just claimed me as your sister?”

Auguste calls the guard, “Jord.” He enters, amber eyes careful to look only at his. “Tell the innkeeper we require food and drink. Have him see the men are fed too.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He turns back to Sylphie. “All right. Proceed with your tale.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” she mocks.

“To begin at the beginning, as one must,” she gestures airily with one hand. “My mother came to court at seventeen. She caught our Father’s eye and then gained his love. They wished to marry, but of course she was not acceptable for a Prince, being of no dynastic advantage. The Queen, our grandmother, commanded her parents to return home with her.”

“When my mother sent a message to Aleron giving him the news she was with child, the Queen intercepted it. She decreed that my mother be banished. In exchange, monies and properties were given to her family, for silence, for Aleron never to learn the truth. Word was put out that she had died of a fever. She has kept to that bargain for the sake of her Mother, who fought against it but lost.”

“That’s quite a neat tale. It doesn’t change the fact that you are a bastard and a danger to the Kings rule.”

“Do you think it hurts my feelings to be called a bastard?” Her words are scornful as if he’d said something of no account. “I had nothing to do with it.” Then, leaning forward, face intent, “As to the danger I pose, I have assured you I have no such designs. Veretian law can and should be changed!” Her voice rises, “Why am I exiled? I didn’t break the law. You will be King. I wrongly believed if I met you, you would consider my petition.”

“You conveniently overlook that we met when your man Gerard hijacked my ship and kidnapped me. At your behest I assume. Gerard, who I had taken into my service, into my guard.” Auguste counters, his simmering resentment rising once more.

“Ask yourself, what choice was open to me? Send a message from Paradiso claiming to be a bastard princess? Sail to Vere and demand audience with the King?”

Auguste has to give her that point. Reluctantly.

“Has it really been so difficult to be kidnapped with the handsome Akielon Prince? You seemed inordinately close for enemies. I liked him by the way. You have my congratulations on that one.” She settles back with satisfaction and a warm hum of approval.

He is not going to entertain that topic.

“I have things to see to.” He stands to leave. “While I am away, think on this. You wish to meet your Father. Doing so under these circumstances will not present you in the most favorable light. Return Laurent, let us go. I will tell my Father of you. He will choose.”

Sylphie doesn’t answer immediately. For once. Then she says quietly, “Much was taken from me, from my mother. In return, consider my questions. Was it justice? To exile a young woman and her innocent child? To deny me ever seeing my Father’s face?”

Her usual brash arrogance is gone. Here, he hears a softer Sylphie, one he could imagine as a girl, dreaming out across the ocean, yearning for her Father, the King of a faraway land.

He leaves pondering her questions. Yes, justice was different than Law. This he knows from his studies of philosophy. Laurent would have an opinion and he has an urge to seek it. He decides he will agree to anything that persuades her to release him.

The men are gathered in the common room eating. None of them are his particular friends. He has kept himself apart as his duties multiplied over the years. He had trusted Gerard and his betrayal is painful.

He doesn’t join in their camaraderie and it fades as the men realize his mood. Daniel leaves to carry out his orders; to find Almadine and inform him of a possible night maneuver, withholding any information about that being the rescue of Laurent.

He settles up with the innkeeper, glad of the coin he had brought from Marlas to pay the Captain for the voyage gone awry. The dullness of duty settles over the vestiges of his rage.

He leaves out the back of the inn and takes the steps down to the ocean. He walks to that exact rock where they met Nikandros and Laurent and leans against it, watching the waves surge and roll. Gradually he attains a semblance of peace. Enough to think through his options, carefully as he should.

First to the questions Sylphie asked. He has always accepted Veretian law. It is the law. Now he examines it and sees the flaws. There was something unnatural in the restrictions. As he turns it over, he has to admit there is a decided unfairness to Sylphie's and her mother’s exile.

When he returns, intent on negotiating Laurent’s freedom, he discovers Sylphie gazing out the window towards the ocean below. She pivots, her face unguarded and traced with tears. Showing her usual courage, she says, “I was looking towards Arles. It’s something I do every day. I try to imagine a man with a face like mine. I have never quite been able to.” There is a slight quaver in her voice that is unexpectedly touching.

In that moment, Auguste decides to toss out inducements or threats. He tires of it and to be honest, it is not his strength. “Let’s get out of here. I have seen to my duties and now I need to go for a ride. Come with me.”

“All right,” she says. For the first time he sees her true smile. It is winsome and lovely and so like Laurent’s when he is particularly pleased to be included in Auguste’s day.

After he dismisses the guard and informs the men he will be away for a few hours, they walk to the stables.

The stable boy tacks the horse Sylphie rode in on this morning and he requests one of the greys Damen and he had borrowed yesterday. His horse nickers at Sylphie, arching his neck. She responds, “Hello naughty,” as he nuzzles her hand.

“Did I steal your personal mount?”

“One of them.”

“Your stable boys. They are named Laurent and Auguste.”

“Curious about that?”

“Yes.”

“There are mysteries upon mysteries you have yet to know, brother.” Her expression is teasing, her tone daring him to reject her familiarity.

Brother. He mounts and says, “Show me your island Sylphie.”

She does, taking him off the main road into lush fields of millet and wheat, then orchards of pomegranates, figs and apricots. She discusses the particular practices of farming the sandy soil of Paradiso and speaks expertly of exporting and importing goods throughout the kingdoms. She throws in allusions to trade routes in Vere and the politics of every country. She is not making an effort to impress him he realizes. She has a true passion for the operations of this island.

They fall into a passionate discussion about horse breeding, after Auguste inquires about the bloodlines of her elegant grays. She favors the light footed fleetness of the cheval navarrin while he argues for the power and durability of the boulonnais breed. He can’t help but admire her easy command of every subject they discuss. She is not the reckless brigand she appeared on first acquaintance.

They wind along a rushing river, following it deep into the hills and finally arriving at a sparkling, dancing waterfall spilling into a wide sandy edged pool. They dismount to water their horses and drink from it themselves.

“You have not tried to charm me. To cajole me into releasing Laurent,” Sylphie observes.

“Would it work?”

She looks deeply into his eyes, so deeply he cannot call upon his usual cool disguise.

“I don’t know,” she says quietly.

“You asked me if I thought justice had been done to you and your Mother. Here is my answer. It was lawful but it was not justice. It is justice for our Father to learn you are his daughter, but not for me to take you to Arles. He must choose himself.”

“Then tell me. What will he choose?”

“He will arrange to see you and your Mother. I truly believe it.”

They leave it there, return to their horses and begin their way back. They are both in private thought and surprisingly companionable.

As they reach the stable and dismount, Auguste hears hard riding coming up behind them and the sound of two voices, urging their horses for speed. They streak by, one rider with deep red hair, the other white gold. They are in a dead heat, crouched over the necks of their mounts, reins loose as they call upon their horses every reserve.

He recognizes Laurent, and putting two fingers to his lips, whistles sharply. Knowing his signal, Laurent skids his horse to a halt, and wheels in his direction. He trots his horse over, the other boy catching up to him. On the way they are in animated discussion, apparently arguing over who won.

Laurent looks reassuringly well. His face is flushed pink across the cheekbones, his blue eyes bright with the thrill of the race and there is an air of merriment about him. His companion is slender and striking with long leaf green eyes. Diamond earrings glint through his wild mass of fiery hair.

“Hello, Auguste,” Laurent greets him. “We have another passenger back to Vere. This is Ancel. He has liberated me for the price of transport and an introduction at court as a Pet.”

“Ancel,” Sylphie says quite fondly. “You did precisely as I expected.”

“Then I am glad to have fulfilled your low expectations.”

“I must know the character of the man I set to a task,” Sylphie agrees. She turns to Laurent, “Sorry about your head. I had to find some way to get Auguste’s attention.”

Laurent says, mock solemnly, “I accept your fulsome apology, Sylphie.”

“You know who I am?”

Laurent says, “I believe we are related.”

As Laurent and Sylphie continue their introductions, Ancel leans across his horse and smiles at him too invitingly, “I guarantee you, I will make your voyage more enjoyable.” He is altogether unappealingly young for whatever he is suggesting.

Before he can demur, Laurent says, “Unless you want me to change my mind about our agreement, leave my brother alone.”

“I wasn’t flirting with you. Stay out of my affairs.”

“There will be no affair… Auguste begins.

“You owe me an earrings back,” Laurent interrupts, “I was winning.”

“Oh no,” Ancel says, possessively clutching one of the earrings in question.

Auguste walks away without a word and hands the stable boy the reins of his horse. He feels unaccountably grumpy. The three behind him seem to be having a lark, acting as if they knew all along how this misadventure would turn to their favor.

Everyone seems to have gotten what they want except him. Sylphie has kidnapped and connived her way into his confidence. Laurent has had a grand adventure with no more harm than a bump to his head. The sly Ancel has played a double cross and won a Prince’s promise for a future as a Pet. Damen is reunited with his Nikandros and from all appearances, in an extremely satisfying manner.

He wants a drink, or too many, and some uncomplicated company. Perhaps a friendly brawl and later, a lusty pirate in his bed. Exactly what he would find in the dangerous center of Paradiso.

“I’m going to the Quarter. Who is with me?”

Ancel is right by his side, Sylphie and Laurent, coming behind. “Could I interest you in the entertainments to be found at the Rutting Stallion?” Ancel asks.

That sounds exactly like the low level of company he is craving. Tomorrow he will be on a ship, sea sick and miserable. The next day, facing his Father’s questions. Tonight though, he will cast his cares into a bottle of wine and find comfort in a stranger’s charms.

“By the seven hells why not? Lead the way.” And should that way be wanton and wicked, then for one night he will escape the restraints of his princely mantle and follow the dark desires of his bruised and bitter heart.

 

 

Note: We are nearing the end of this story which I never thought would turn into all of this. I promise it will finish with a BANG! Thank you to everyone who has generously commented and encouraged me. I couldn’t have done it without you...truth.


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